




















































STORIES FOR BOYS 



“I never saw a King,” Gordon lemarked, "and I’m sure I never expected to see 
one sitting on a log in the rain.” 


STORIES FOR BOYS 


BY 

RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONH 
1915 


COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY 
JHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 



THIS BOOK OF BOYS’ STORIES IS DEDICATED 
TO MY BROTHER 

C. BELMONT DAVIS 


WHO WAS A BOY ABOUT THE SAME TIME I WAS 




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1 


CONTENTS, 


PAOK 

The Reporter who made himself King 1 

Midsummer Pirates 88 

Richard Carr’s Baby 117 

The Great Tri-Club Tennis Tourna- 
ment o . 130 

The Jump at Corey’s Slip 166 

The Van Bibber Baseball Club . . . 177 
The Story of a Jockey 184 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEVER SAW A KiNG ” GORDON EEMARKEL. 
“and Fm sure I NEVER EXPECTED TO SEE 
ONE SITTING ON A LOG IN THE rain/’ Frontispiece 

PAQ£ 

“About time to begin on the goats!” . . 44 

To the North towered three magnificent 
huij:.s of the White Squadron, ... 86 

“ Which do I think will wtn ? ” said the 
veteran boat-builder of Manasquan, . 96 

As THE two Prescotts scrambled up on the 

GITNWALE OF THEIR BOAT, THE DEFEATED 
CREW saluted THEM WITH CHEERS, . . .112 


He TOOK A large roll OF BILLS FROM HIS 

POCKET AND COUNTED THEM, ..... 198 




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^ '4 '.' 





THE EEPORTEE WHO MADE 
HIMSELF KINO. 


The Old Time Journalist will tell you the 
best reporter is the one who works his way 
up. He will hold that the only way to start 
is as a printer’s devil, or as an office boy, to 
learn in time to set type, to graduate from a 
compositor into a stenographer, and as a 
stenographer take down speeches at public 
meetings, and so finally grow into a real re- 
porter, with a fire badge on your left suspen- 
der, and a speaking acquaintance with all the 
greatest men in the city, not even excepting 
Police Captains. 

That is the old time journalist’s idea of it. 
That is the way he was trained, and that is 
why he is reporting still. If you train up a 
youth in this way, he will go into reporting 
with too full a knowledge of the newspaper 
business, with no illusions concerning it, 
and with no ignorant enthusiasms, but with 
a keen and justifiable impression that he is 

l 


2 


THE REPOBTEB WHO 


not paid enough for what he does. And he 
will only do what he is paid to do. Now, 
you cannot pay a good reporter for what he 
does, because he does not work for pay. He 
works for his paper. He gives his time, his 
health, his brains, his sleeping hours, and his 
eating hours, and life sometimes, to get news 
for it. He thinks the sun rises only that men 
may have light by which to read it. But if 
he has been in a newspaper office from his 
youth up, he finds out before he becomes a 
reporter that this is not so, and loses his real 
value. He should come right out of the 
University where he has been doing “campus 
notes” for the college weekly, arid be pitch- 
forked out into city work without knowing 
whether the Battery is at Harlem or Hunter’s 
Point, and with the idea that he is a Moulder 
of Public Opinion and that the Power of the 
Press is greater than the Power of Money, 
and that the few lines he writes are of more 
value in the Editor’s eyes than the column 
of advertising on the last page, which they 
are not. After three years — it is sometimes 
longer, sometimes not so long — he finds out 
that he has given his nerves and his youth 
and his enthusiasm in exchange fora general 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


3 


fund of miscellaneous knowledge, the oppor- 
tunity of personal encounter with all the 
greatest and most remarkable men and events 
that have risen in those three years, and a 
great readiness of resource, and patience. He 
will find that he has crowded the experiences 
of the lifetime of the ordinary young business 
man, doctor, or lawyer, or man about town, 
into three short years ; that he has learnt to 
think and to act quickly, to be patient and 
unmoved when every one else has lost his 
head, actually or figuratively speaking; to 
write as fast as another man can talk, and to 
be able to talk with authority on matters of 
which other men do not venture even to think 
until they have read what he has written with 
a copy-boy at his elbow on the night pre- 
vious. 

It is necessary for you to know this, that 
you may understand what manner of young 
man young Albert Gordon was. 

Young Gordon had been a reporter just 
three years. He had left Yale when his last 
living relative died, and taken the morning 
train for New York, where they had promised 
him reporter ial work on one of th© innumer- 
tble Greatest New York Dailies. He arrived 


4 


THE BEPOBTEB WHO 


at the office at noon, and was sent back over 
the same road on which he had just come, to 
Spuyten Duyvil, where a train had been 
wrecked and about everybody of consequence 
to suburban New York killed. One of the 
old reporters hurried him to the office again 
with his “copy,” and after he had delivered 
that, he was sent to the Tombs to talk French 
to a man in Murderer’s Row, who could not 
talk anything else, but who had shown some 
international skill in the use of a jimmy. 
And at eight, he covered a flower show in 
Madison Square Garden ; and at eleven was 
sent over the Brooklyn Bridge in a cab to 
watch a fire and make guesses at the insurance. 

He went to bed at one, and dreamt of shat- 
tered locomotives, human beings lying still 
with blankets over them, rows of cells, and 
banks of beautiful flowers nodding their heads 
to the tunes of the brass band in the gallery. 
He decided when he awoke the next morn- 
ing that he had entered upon a picturesque 
and exciting career, and as one day followed 
another, he became more and more convinced 
of it, and more and more devoted to it. He 
was eighteen then, and he was now twenty- 
one, and in that time had become a great 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


6 


reporter, and had been to Presidential con- 
ventions in Chicago, revolutions in Hayti, 
Indian outbreaks on the Plains, and midnight 
meetings of moonlighters in Tennessee, and 
had seen what work earthquakes, floods, fire, 
and fever could do in great cities, and had 
contradicted the President, and borrowed 
matches from burglars. And now he thought 
he would like to rest and breathe a bit, and 
not to work again unless as a war correspon- 
dent or as a novelist. He had always had 
enough money of his own to keep him alive, 
and so he was in consequence independent of 
what the paper gave him. The only obstacle 
to his becoming a great war correspondent 
lay in the fact that there was no war, and a 
war correspondent without a war is about as 
absurd an individual as a general without an 
army. He read the papers every morning on 
the elevated trains for war clouds ; but though 
there were many war clouds, they always 
drifted apart, and peace smiled again. This 
was very disappointing to young Gordon, and 
he was more and more keenly discouraged. 

And then as war work was out of the 
question, he decided to write his novel. It 
was to be a novel of New York life, and he 


6 


THE REPORTER WHO 


Wanted a quiet place in which to work on it. 
He was already making inquiries among the 
suburban residents of his acquaintance for 
just such a quiet spot, when he received an 
offer to go to the Island of Opeki in the 
South Pacific Ocean, as secretary to the 
American consul to that place. The gentle- 
man who had been appointed by the President 
to act as consul at Opeki, was Captain 
Leonard T. Travis, a veteran of the Civil 
War, who had contracted a severe attack of 
rheumatism while camping out at night in the 
dew, and who on account of this souvenir of 
his efforts to save the Union had allowed the 
Union he had saved to support him in one 
office or another ever since. He had met 
young Gordon at a dinner, and had had the 
presumption to ask him to serve as his secre- 
tary, and Gordon, much to his surprise, had 
accepted his offer. The idea of a quiet life 
in the tropics with new and beautiful sur- 
roundings, and with nothing to do and plenty 
of time in which to do it, and to write his 
novel besides, seemed to Albert to be just 
what he wanted ; and though he did not know 
or care much for his superior officer, he agreed 
to go with him promptly, and proceeded to bid 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


7 


good by to his friends and to make his prep- 
arations. Captain Travis was so delighted 
with getting such a clever young gentleman 
for his secretary, that he referred to him to his 
friends as “ my attach^ of legation” ; nor did 
he lessen that gentleman’s dignity by telling' 
any one that the attache’s salary was to be 
$500 a year. His own salary was only $1500 ; 
and though his brother-in-law, Senator Rains- 
ford, tried his best to get it raised, he was 
unsuccessful. The consulship to Opeki was 
instituted early in the ’50 ’s, to get rid of and 
reward a third or fourth cousin of the Presi- 
dent’s, whose services during the campaign 
were important, but whose after-presence was 
embarrassing. He had been created consul to 
Opeki as being more distant and unaccessible 
than any other known spot, and had lived 
and died there ; and so little was known of the 
island, and so difficult was communication 
with it, that no one knew he was dead, until 
Captain Travis, in his hungry haste for office, 
had uprooted the sad fact. Captain Travis, 
as well as Albert, had a secondary reason for 
wishing to visit Opeki. His physician had 
told him to go to some warm climate for his 
rheumatism, and in accepting the consulship 


8 


THE REPORTER WHO 


his object was rather to follow out his doctor’s 
orders at his country’s expense, than to serve 
his country at the expense of his rheumatism. 

Albert could learn but very little of Opeki ; 
nothing, indeed, but that it was situated about 
one hundred miles from the Island of Octa- 
via, which island, in turn, was simply de- 
scribed as a coaling-station three hundred 
miles from the coast of California. Steamers 
from San Francisco to Yokohama stopped 
every third week at Octavia, and that was all 
either Captain Travis or his secretary could 
learn of their new home. This was so very 
little, that Albert stipulated to stay only as 
long as he liked it, and to return to the States 
within a few months if he found such a 
change of plan desirable. 

As he was going to Avhat was an almost 
undiscovered country, he thought it would be 
a good plan to furnish himself with a sup- 
ply of articles with which to trade with the 
native Opekians, and for this purpose he pur- 
chased a large quantity of brass rods, because 
he had read that Stanley did so, and added 
to these, brass curtain chains and about two 
hundred leaden medals similar to those sold 
by street pedlers during the Constitutional 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


9 


Centennial celebration in New York City, 
and which were cheap. He also collected even 
more beautiful but less expensive decorations 
for Christmas trees, at a wholesale house on 
Park Row. These he hoped to exchange for 
furs or feathers or weapons, or for whatever 
other curious and valuable trophies the Island 
of Opeki boasted. He already pictured his 
room on his return hung fantastically with 
crossed spears and boomerangs, feather head- 
dresses, and ugly idols. His friends told 
him he was doing a very foolish thing, and 
argued that once out of the newspaper world, 
it would be hard to regain his place in it. 
But he thought the novel he would write 
while lost to the world at Opeki would 
serve to make up for his temporary absence 
from it, and he expressly and impressively 
stipulated that the editor should wire him if 
there was a war. 

Captain Travis and his secretary crossed 
the continent without adventure, and cOok pas- 
sage from San Francisco on the first steamer 
that touched Octavia. They reached that 
island in three days, and learned with some 
concern that there was no regular commu- 
nication with Opeki, and that it would be 


10 


THE REPORTER WHO 


necessary to charter a sail-boat for the trip. 
Two fishermen agreed to take them and their 
trunks, and to get them to their destination 
within sixteen hours if the wind held good. 
It was a most unpleasant sail. The rain fell 
with calm, relentless persistence from what 
was apparently a clear sky; the wind tossed 
the waves as high as the mast and made Cap- 
tain Travis ill. There was no deck to the 
big boat, and they were forced to huddle up 
under pieces of canvas, and talked but little. 
Captain Travis complained of frequent 
twinges of rheumatism, and gazed forlornly 
over the gunwale at the empty waste of 
water. 

“ If I’ve got to serve a term of imprison- 
ment on a rock in the middle of the ocean for 
four years,” he said, “I might just as well 
have done something first, to deserve it. 
This is a pretty way to treat a man who bled 
for his country. This is gratitude, this is.” 
Albert pulled heavily on his pipe, and wiped 
the rain and spray from his face and smiled. 

“Oh, it won’t be so bad when we get 
there,” he said; “they say these Southern 
people are always hospitable, and the whites 
will be glad to see any one from the States.” 


MADE EIMSELF KING, 


11 


“There will be a round of diplomatic 
dinners,” said the consul, with an attempt at 
cheerfulness. “ I have brought two uniforms 
to wear at them.” 

It was seven o’clock in the evening when 
the rain ceased, and one of the black, half- 
naked fishermen nodded and pointed at a 
little low line on the horizon. 

“ Opeki,” he said. The line grew in length 
until it proved to be an island with great 
mountains rising to the clouds, and as they 
drew nearer and nearer, showed a level coast 
running back to the foot of the mountains 
and covered with a forest of palms. They 
next made out a village of thatched huts 
around a grassy square, and at some distance 
from the village a wooden structure with a 
tin roof. 

“I wonder where the town is,” asked the 
consul, with a nervous glance at the fisher- 
men* One of them told him that what he 
saw was the town. 

“ That ? ” gasped the consul ; “ is that where 
all the people on the island live ? ” The fish- 
erman nodded; but the other added that there 
were other natives up in the mountains, but 
that they were bad men who fought and ate 


12 


THE BEPOBTEB WHO 


each other. The consul and his attach^ of 
legation gazed at the mountains with un- 
spoken misgivings. They were quite near 
now, and could see an immense crowd of men 
and women, all of them black, and clad but 
in the simplest garments, waiting to receive 
them. They seemed greatly excited and ran 
in and out of the huts, and up and down the 
beach, as wildly as so many black ants. But 
in the front of the group they distinguished 
three men who they could see were white, 
though they were clothed like the others, 
simply in a shirt and a short pair of trou- 
sers. Two of these three suddenly sprang 
away on a run and disappeared among the 
palm trees ; but the third one, who had recog- 
nized the American flag in the halyards, 
threw his straw hat in the water and began 
turning handsprings over the sand. 

“That young gentleman, at least,” said 
Albert, gravely, “seems pleased to see us.” 

A dozen of the natives sprang into the 
water and came wading and swimming 
towards them, and grinning and shouting 
and swinging their arms. 

“I don’t think it’s quite safe, do you?” 
said the consul, looking out wildly to the 


MADE HIMSELF KING. IS 

open sea. “You see, they don’t know who 
I am.” 

A great black giant threw one arm over the 
gunwale and shouted something that sounded 
as if it were spelt Owah, Owah, as the boat 
carried him through the surf. 

“How do you do?” said Gordon, doubt- 
fully. The boat shook the giant off under 
the wave and beached itself so suddenly that 
the American consul was thrown forward to 
his knees. Gordon did not wait to pick him 
up, but jumped out and shook hands with the 
young man who had turned handsprings, 
while the natives gathered about them in a 
circle and chatted and laughed in delighted 
excitement. 

“ I’m awful glad to see you,” said the young 
man, eagerly. “My name’s Stedman. I’m 
from New Haven, Connecticut. Where are 
you from?” 

“New York,” said Albert. “This,” he 
added, pointing solemnly to Captain Travis, 
who was still on his knees in the boat, “ is 
the American consul to Opeki.” The Amer- 
ican consul to Opeki gave a wild look at 
Mr. Stedman of New Haven and at the 
natives. 


14 


THE REPORTER WHO 


“See here, young man,” he gasped, “is 
this all there is of Opeki ? ” 

“ The American consul?” said young Sted- 
man, with a gasp of amazement, and looking 
from Albert to Captain Travis. “ Why, I 
never supposed they would send another 
here; the last one died about fifteen years 
ago, and there hasn’t been one since. I’ve 
been living in the consul’s office with the 
Bradleys, but I’ll move out, of course. I’m 
sure I’m awfully glad to see you. It’ll make 
it more pleasant for me.” 

“Yes,” said Captain Travis, bitterly, as he 
lifted his rheumatic leg over the boat ; “ that’s 
why we came.” 

Mr. Stedman did not notice this. He was 
too much pleased to be anything but hospi- 
table. “ You are soaking wet, aren’t you ? ” 
he said; “and hungry, I guess. You come 
right over to the consul’s office and get on 
some other things.” 

He turned to the natives and gave some 
rapid orders in their language, and some 
of them jumped into the boat at this, and 
began lifting out the trunks, and others ran 
off towards a large, stout old native, who 
was sitting gravely on a log, smoking, with 
the rain beating unnoticed on his gray hair. 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


15 


They’ve gone to tell the King,” said Sted- 
man ; “ but you both better get something to 
eat first, and then I’ll be happy to present 
you properly.” 

“The King,” said Captain Travis, with 
some awe ; “ is there a king ? ” 

“I never saw a king,” Gordon remarked, 
“and I’m sure I never expected to see one 
sitting on a log in the rain.” 

“He’s a very good King,” said Stedman, 
confidentially; “and though you mightn’t 
think it to look at him, he’s a terrible stick- 
ler for etiquette and form. After supper 
he’ll give you an audience; and if you have 
any tobacco, you had better give him some as 
a present, and you’d better say it’s from the 
President: he doesn’t like to take presents 
from common people, he’s so proud. The 
only reason he borrows mine is because he 
thinks I’m the President’s son.” 

“What makes him think that?” demanded 
the consul, with some shortness. Young Mr. 
Stedman looked nervously at the consul and 
at Albert, and said that he guessed some one 
must have told him. The consul’s office 
was divided into four rooms with an open 
court in the middle, filled with palms, and 


16 


THE REPORTER WHO 


watered somewhat unnecessarily by a foun- 
tain. 

“ I made that, ’’ said Stedman, in a modest 
off-hand way. “I made it out of hollow 
bamboo reeds connected with a spring. And 
now I’m making one for the King. He saw 
this and had a lot of bamboo sticks put up 
all over the town, without any underground 
connections, and couldn’t make out why the 
water wouldn’t spurt out of them. And 
because mine spurts, he thinks I’m a magi- 
cian.” 

“I suppose,” grumbled the consul, “some 
one told him that, too.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Mr. Stedman, uneasily. 

There was a veranda around the consul’s 
office, and inside, the walls were hung with 
skins, and pictures from illustrated papers, 
and there was a good deal of bamboo furni- 
ture, and four broad, cool-looking beds. 
The place was as clean as a kitchen. “I 
made the furniture,” said Stedman, “and the 
Bradleys keep the place in order.” 

“Who are the Bradleys?” asked Albert. 

“ The Bradleys are those two men you saw 
with me,” said Stedman ; “ they deserted from 
a British man-of-war that stopped here for 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


17 


coal, and they act as my servants. One is 
Bradley, Sr., and the other, Bradley, Jr.” 

“Then vessels do stop here, occasionally?” 
the consul said, with a pleased smile. 

“Well, not often,” said Stedman. “Not 
so very often ; about once a year. The Nel- 
son thought this was Octavia, and put off 
again as soon as she found out her mistake, 
and the Bradleys took to the bush, and the 
boat’s crew couldn’t find them. When they 
saw your flag, they thought you might mean 
to send them back, so they ran off to hide 
again: they’ll be back, though, when they 
get hungry.” 

The supper young Stedman spread for his 
guests, as he still treated them, was very 
refreshing and very good. There was cold 
fish and pigeon pie, and a hot omelet filled 
with mushrooms and olives and tomatoes 
and onions all sliced up together, and strong 
black coffee. After supper, Stedman went 
off to see the King and came back in a little 
while to say that his Majesty would give 
them an audience the next day after break- 
fast. “It is too dark now,” Stedman ex- 
plained; “and it’s raining so that they can’t 
make the street lamps burn. Did you hap- 


18 


THE REPORTER WHO 


pen to notice our lamps ? I invented them ; 
but they don’t work very well, yet. I’ve 
got the right idea, though, and I’ll soon have 
the town illuminated all over, whether it 
rains or not.” 

The consul had been very silent and indif- 
ferent, during supper, to all around him. 
Now he looked up with some show of inter- 
est. 

“ How much longer is it going to rain, do 
you think?” he asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stedman, criti- 
cally. “Not more than two months, I should 
say.” The consul rubbed his rheumatic leg 
and sighed, but said nothing. 

The Bradleys turned up about ten o'clock, 
and came in very sheepishly, pulling at their 
forelocks and scraping with their left foot. 
The consul had gone off to pay the boatmen 
who had brought them, and Albert in his 
absence assured the sailors that there was 
not the least danger of their being sent 
away. Then he turned into one of the beds, 
and Stedman took one in another room, leav- 
ing the room he had occupied heretofore, 
for the consuL As he was saying good 
night, Albert suggested that he had not yet 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


19 


told them how he came to be on a deserted 
island; but Stedman only laughed and said 
that that was a long story, and that he would 
tell him all about it in the morning. So 
Albert went off to bed without waiting for 
the consul to return, and fell asleep, wonder- 
ing at the strangeness of his new life, and 
assuring himself that if the rain only kept 
up, he would have his novel finished in a 
month. 

The sun was shining brightly when he 
awoke, and the palm trees outside were 
nodding gracefully in a warm breeze. From 
the court came the odor of strange flowers, 
and from the window he could see the ocean 
brilliantly blue, and with the sun coloring 
the spray that beat against the coral reefs on 
the shore. 

“Well, the consul can’t complain of this,” 
he said, with a laugh of satisfaction; and 
pulling on a bath-robe, he stepped into the 
next room to awaken Captain Travis. But 
the room was quite empty, and the bed 
undisturbed. The consul’s trunk remained 
just where it had been placed near the door, 
and on it lay a large sheet of foolscap, with 
writing on it, and addressed at the top to 


20 


THE BEP OUTER WHO 


Albert Gordon. The handwriting was the 
consul’s. Albert picked it up and read it 
with much anxiety. It began abruptly : — 

“The fishermen who brought us to this 
forsaken spot tell me that it rains here six 
months in the year, and that this is the first 
month. I came here to serve my country, 
for which I fought and bled, but I did not 
come here to die of rheumatism and pneumo- 
nia. I can serve my country better by stay- 
ing alive; and whether it rains or not, I don’t 
like it. I have been grossly deceived, and I 
am going back. Indeed, by the time you get 
this, I will be on my return trip, as I intend 
leaving with the men who brought us here as 
soon as they can get the sail up. My cousin. 
Senator Rainsford, can fix it all right with 
the President, and can have me recalled in 
proper form after I get back. But of course 
it would not do for me to leave my post with 
no one to take my place, and no one could be 
more ably fitted to do so than yourself ; so I 
feel no compunctions at leaving you behind. 
I hereby, therefore, accordingly appoint you 
my substitute with full power to act, to 
collect all fees, sign all papers, and attend 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


21 


to all matters pertaining to your ofiQce as 
American consul, and I trust you will wor- 
thily uphold the name of that country and 
government which it has always been my 
pleasure and duty to serve. 

“ Your sincere friend and superior officer, 
“Leonard T. Travis. 

“P.S. I did not care to disturb you by 
moving my trunk, so I left it, and you can 
make what use you please of whatever it 
contains, as I shall not want tropical gar- 
ments where I am going. What you will 
need most, I think, is a waterproof and um- 
brella. 

“ P.S. Look out for that young man Sted- 
man. He is too inventive. I hope you will 
like your high office; but as for me, I am 
satisfied with little old New York. Opeki is 
just a bit too far from civilization to suit me. ” 

Albert held the letter before him and read 
it over again before he moved. Then he 
jumped to the window. The boat was gone, 
and there was not a sign of it on the horizon. 

“ The miserable old hypocrite !” he cried, 
half angry and half laughing. “ If he thinks 
I am going to stay here alone he is very 


22 


THE REPORTER WHO 


greatly mistaken. And yet, why not?” he 
asked. He stopped soliloquizing and looked 
around him, thinking rapidly. As he stood 
there, Stedman came in from the other room, 
fresh and smiling from his morning’s bath. 

“Good morning,” he said, “where’s the 
consul?” 

“The consul,” said Albert, gravely, “is 
before you. In me you see the American 
consul to Opeki.” 

“Captain Travis,” Albert explained, “has 
returned to the United States. I suppose he 
feels that he can best serve his country by 
remaining on the spot. In case of another 
war, now, for instance, he would be there to 
save it again.” 

“ And what are you going to do?” asked 
Stedman, anxiously. “You will not run 
away too, will you ? ” 

Albert said that he intended to remain 
where he was and perform his consular duties, 
to appoint him his secretary of legation, and 
to elevate the United States in the opinion 
of the Opekians above all other nations. 

“ They may not think much of the United 
States in Russia,” he said; “but we are going 
to teach Opeki that America is first on the 
map, and there is no second.” 


MADE ElMSELF KING. 


23 


“I’m sure it’s very good of you to make 
me your secretary,” said Stedman, with some 
pride. “I hope I won’t make any mistakes. 
What are the duties of a consul’s secretary? ” 

“That,” said Albert, “I do not know. 
But you are rather good at inventing, so you 
can invent a few. That should be your first 
duty, and you should attend to it at once. I 
will have trouble enough finding work for 
myself. Your salary is $500 a year; and 
now,” he continued, briskly, “we want to 
prepare for this reception. We can tell the 
King that Travis was just a guard of honor 
for the trip, and that I have sent him back 
to tell the President of my safe arrival. 
That will keep the President from getting 
anxious. There is nothing,” continued 
Albert, “like a uniform to impress people 
who live in the tropics, and Travis, it so 
happens, has two in his trunk. He intended 
to wear them on State occasions, and as I 
inherit the trunk and all that is in it, I in- 
tend to wear one of the uniforms, and you 
can have the other. But I have first choice, 
because I am consul.” 

Captain Travis’s diplomatic outfit consisted 
of one full dress and one undress United 


24 


THE BEPORTEB WHO 


States uniform. Albert put on the dress coat 
over a pair of white flannel trousers, and 
looked remarkably brave and handsome . Sted- 
man, who was only eighteen and quite thin, 
did not appear so well, until Albert suggested 
his padding out his chest and shoulders with 
towels. This made him rather warm, but 
helped his general appearance. 

“The two Bradleys must dress up too,” 
said Albert. “ I think they ought to act as 
a guard of honor, don’t you ? The only things 
I have are blazers and jerseys ; but it doesn’t 
much matter what they wear, as long as they 
dress alike.” 

He accordingly called in the two Bradleys, 
and gave them each a pair of the captain’s 
rejected white duck trousers, and a blue 
jersey apiece, with a big white Y on it. 

“The students of Yale gave me that,” he 
said to the younger Bradley, “in which to 
play football, and a great man gave me the 
other. His name is Walter Camp; and if 
you rip or soil that jersey, I’ll send you back 
to England in irons; so be careful.” 

Stedman gazed at his companions in their 
different costumes, doubtfully. “ It reminds 
me,” he said, “of private theatricals. Of the 
time our church choir played ‘Pinafore.’ ” 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


25 


“ Yes,” assented Albert ; “ but I don’t think 
we look quite gay enough. I tell you what we 
need, — medals. You never saw a diplomat 
without a lot of decorations and medals.” 

“Well, I can fix that,” Stedman said. 
“I’ve got a bag full. I used to be the fast- 
est bicycle-rider in Connecticut, and I’ve got 
all my prizes with me.” 

Albert said doubtfully that that wasn’t 
exactly the sort of medal he meant. 

“Perhaps not,” returned Stedman, as he 
began fumbling in his trunk ; “ but the King 
won’t know the difference. He couldn’t tell 
a cross of the Legion of Honor from a medal 
for the tug of war.” 

So the bicycle medals, of which Stedman 
seemed to have an innumerable quantity, 
were strung in profusion over Albert’s uni- 
form, and in a lesser quantity over Sted- 
man ’s ; while a handful of leaden ones, those 
sold on the streets for the Constitutional 
Centennial, with which Albert had provided 
himself, were wrapped up in a red silk hand- 
kerchief for presentation to the King: with 
them Albert placed a number of brass rods 
and brass chains, much to Stedman ’s de- 
lighted approval. 


26 


THE REPOUTER WHO 


‘‘That is a very good idea,” he said. 
“Democratic simplicity is the right thing 
at home, of course ; but when you go 
abroad and mix with crowned heads, you 
want to show them that you know what’s 
what.” 

“Well,” said Albert, gravely, “I sincerely 
hope this crowned head don’t know what’s 
what. If he reads ‘ Connecticut Agricultural 
State Fair. One mile bicycle race. First 
Prize,’ on this badge, when we are trying to 
make him believe it’s a war medal, it may 
hurt his feelings.” 

Bradley, Jr., went ahead to announce the 
approach of the American embassy, which 
he did with so much manner that the King 
deferred the audience a half-hour, in order 
that he might better prepare to receive his 
visitors. When the audience did take place, 
it attracted the entire population to the green 
spot in front of the King’s palace, and their 
delight and excitement over the appearance 
of the visitors was sincere and hearty. The 
King was too polite to appear much surprised, 
but he showed his delight over his presents 
as simply and openly as a child. Thrice he 
insisted on embracing Albert, and kissing 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


27 


him three times on the forehead, which, Sted- 
man assured him in a side whisper, was a 
great honor; an honor which was not extended 
to the secretary, although he was given a 
necklace of animals’ claws instead, with 
which he was better satisfied. 

After this reception, the embassy marched 
back to the consul’s office, surrounded by an 
immense number of the natives, some of 
whom ran ahead and looked back at them, 
and crowded so close on them that the two 
Bradleys had to poke at the nearest ones with 
their guns. The crowd remained outside the 
office even after the procession of four had 
disappeared, and cheered. This suggested 
to Gordon that this would be a good time 
to make a speech, which he accordingly did, 
Stedman translating it, sentence by sentence. 
At the conclusion of this effort, Albert dis- 
tributed a number of brass rings among the 
married men present, which they placed on 
whichever finger fitted best, and departed 
delighted. 

Albert had wished to give the rings to the 
married women, but Stedman pointed out to 
him that it would be much cheaper to give 
them to the married men; for while one 


28 


THE EEPOETER WHO 


woman could only have one husband, one 
man could have at least six wives. 

“And now, Stedman,” said Albert, after 
the mob had gone, “tell me what you are 
doing on this island.” 

“It’s a very simple story,” Stedman said. 
“ I am the representative, or agent, or opera- 
tor, for the Yokohama Cable Company. The 
Yokohama Cable Company is a company 
started in San Francisco, for the purpose of 
laying a cable to Yokohama. It is a stock 
company ; and though it started out very well, 
the stock has fallen very low. Between our- 
selves, it is not worth over three or four cents. 
When the officers of the company found out 
that no one would buy their stock, and that 
no one believed in them or their scheme, they 
laid a cable to Octavia, and extended it on to 
this island. Then they said they had run out 
of ready money, and would wait until they 
got more before laying their cable any fur- 
ther. I do not think they ever will lay it 
any further, but that is none of my business. 
My business is to answer cable messages 
from San Francisco, so that the people who 
visit the home office can see at least a part 
of the cable is working. That sometimes 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


29 


impresses them, and they buy stock. There 
is another chap over in Octavia, who relays 
all my messages and all my replies to those 
messages that come to me through him from 
San Francisco. They never send a message 
unless they have brought some one to the 
office whom they want to impress, and who, 
they think, has money to invest in the Y. C. 
C. stock, and so we never go near the wire, 
except at three o’clock every afternoon. And 
then generally only to say ‘How are you?’ 
or ‘It’s raining,’ or something like that. 
I’ve been saying ‘It’s raining’ now for the 
last three months, but to-day I will say that 
the new consul has arrived. That will be a 
pleasant surprise for the chap in Octavia, for 
he must be tired hearing about the weather. 
He generally answers ‘Here too,’ or ‘So you 
said,’ or something like that. I don’t know 
what he says to the home office. He’s 
brighter than I am, and that’s why they put 
him between the two ends. He can see that 
the messages are transmitted more fully and 
more correctly, in a way to please possible 
subscribers.” 

“Sort of copy editor,” suggested Albert. 

“Yes, something of that sort, I fancy,’* 
said Stedman. 


30 


THE REPORTER WHO 


They walked down to the little shed on 
the shore, where the Y. C. C. office was 
placed, at three that day, and Albert watched 
Stedman send off his message with much in- 
terest. The “chap at Octavia,” on being in- 
formed that the American consul had arrived 
at Opeki, inquired somewhat disrespectfully, 
“ Is it a life sentence ? ” 

“What does he mean by that?” asked 
Albert. 

“ I suppose,” said his secretary, doubtfully, 
“ that he thinks it a sort of a punishment to 
be sent to Opeki. I hope you don’t grow to 
think so.” 

“ Opeki is all very well,” said Gordon, “or 
it will be when we get things going our 
way.” 

As they walked back to the office, Albert 
noticed a brass cannon, perched on a rock 
at the entrance to the harbor. This had 
been put there by the last consul, but had 
not been fired for many years. Albert im- 
mediately ordered the two Bradleys to get it 
in order, and to rig up a flag-pole beside it, 
for one of his American flags, which they 
were to salute every night when they lowered 
it at sundown. 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


31 


“And when we are not using it,” he said, 
“ the King can borrow it to celebrate with, if 
he doesn’t impose on us too often. The royal 
salute ought to be twenty-one guns, I think ; 
but that would use up too much powder, so 
he will have to content himself with two.” 

“Did you notice,” asked Stedman that 
night, as they sat on the veranda of the con- 
sul’s house, in the moonlight, “how the peo- 
ple bowed to us as we passed?” 

“Yes,” Albert said he had noticed it. 
“Why?” 

“Well, they never saluted me,” replied 
Stedman. “That sign of respect is due to 
the show we made at the reception.” 

“It is due to us, in any event,” said the 
consul, severely. “ I tell you, my secretary, 
that we, as the representatives of the United 
States government, must be properly honored 
on this island. We must become a power. 
And we must do so without getting into 
trouble with the King. W e must make them 
honor him, too, and then as we push him up, 
we will push ourselves up at the same time. ” 

“They don’t think much of consuls in 
Opeki,” said Stedman, doubtfully. “You 
see the last one was a pretty poor sort. He 


32 


THE REPORTEB WHO 


brought the office into disrepute, and it 
wasn’t really until I came and told them 
what a fine country the United States was, 
that they had any opinion of it at all. Now 
we must change all that. ” 

“That is just what we will do,” said 
Albert. “We will transform Opeki into a 
powerful and beautiful city. We will make 
these people work. They must put up a pal- 
ace for the King, and lay out streets, and 
build wharves, and drain the town properly, 
and light it. I haven’t seen this patent 
lighting apparatus of yours, but you had 
better get to work at it at once, and I’ll per- 
suade the King to appoint you commissioner 
of highways and gas, with authority to make 
his people toil. And I,” he cried, in free 
enthusiasm, “will organize a navy and a 
standing army. Only,” he added, with a 
relapse of interest, “there isn’t anybody to 
fight.” 

“There isn’t?” said Stedman, grimly, 
with a scornful smile. “You just go hunt 
up old Messenwah and the Hillmen with your 
standing army once, and you’ll get all the 
fighting you want.” 

“ The Hillmen ? ” said Albert. 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


33 


“ The Hillmen are the natives that live up 
there in the hills,” Stedman said, nodding 
his head towards the three high mountains 
at the other end of the island, that stood out 
blackly against the purple, moonlit sky. 
“ There are nearly as many of them as there 
are Opekians, and they hunt and fight for a 
living and for the pleasure of it. They have 
an old rascal named Messenwah for a king, 
and they come down here about once every 
three months, and tear things up.” Albert 
sprang to his feet. 

“ Oh, they do, do they ? ” he said, staring up 
at the mountain tops. “They come down 
here and tear up things, do they? Well, I 
think we’ll stop that, I think we’ll stop that I 
I don’t care how many there are. I’ll get the 
two Bradleys to tell me all they know about 
the drilling, to-morrow morning, and we’ll 
drill these Opekians, and have sham battles, 
and attacks, and repulses, until I make a lot 
of wild, howling Zulus out of them. And 
when the Hillmen come down to pay their 
quarterly visit, they’ll go back again on a 
run. At least some of them will,” he added 
ferociously. “ Some of them will stay right 
here.” 


34 


THE MEPOBTER WHO 


“Dear me, dear me!” said Stedman, with 
awe; “you are a horn fighter, aren’t you?” 

“Well, you wait and see,” said Gordon; 
“may be I am. I haven’t studied tactics of 
war and the history of battles, so that I might 
be a great war correspondent, without learn- 
ing something. And there is only one king 
on this island, and that is old Ollypybus 
himself. And I’ll go over and have a talk 
with him about it to-morrow.” 

Young Stedman walked up and down the 
length of the veranda, in and out of the 
moonlight, with his hands in his pockets, and 
his head on his chest. “ You have me all 
stirred up, Gordon,” he said; “you seem so 
confident and bold, and you’re not so much 
older than I am, either.” 

“My training has been different; that’s 
all,” said the reporter. 

“Yes,” Stedman said bitterly; “I have 
been sitting in an office ever since I left 
school, sending news over a wire or a cable, 
and you have been out in the world, gather- 
ing it.” 

“And now,” said Gordon, smiling, and 
putting his arm around the other boy’s shoul- 
ders, “we are going to make news ourselves.” 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


35 


“ There is one thing I want to say to you 
before you turn in,” said Stedman. “Before 
you suggest all these improvements on Olly- 
pybus, you must remember that he has ruled 
absolutely here for twenty years, and that he 
does not think much of consuls. He has only 
seen your predecessor and yourself. He 
likes you because you appeared with such 
dignity, and because of the presents; but 
if I were you, I wouldn’t suggest these 
improvements as coming from yourself.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Gordon; “who 
could they come from ? ” 

“Well,” said Stedman, “if you will allow 
me to advise, — and you see I know these 
people pretty well, — I would have all these 
suggestions come from the President direct.” 

“ The President! ” exclaimed Gordon ; “ but 
how ? what does the President know or care 
about Opeki? and it would take so long — 
oh, I see, the cable. Is that what you have 
been doing ? ” he asked. 

“Well, only once,” said Stedman, guiltily; 
that was when he wanted to turn me out of 
the consul’s office, and I had a cable that very 
afternoon, from the President, ordering me to 
stay where I was. Ollypybus doesn’t under- 


36 


THE BEPORTEB WHO 


stand the cable, of course, but he knows that 
it sends messages ; and sometimes I pretend 
to send messages for him to the President; 
but he began asking me to tell the President 
to come and pay him a visit, and I had to 
stop it.” 

“I’m glad you told me,” said Gordon. 
“The President shall begin to cable to- 
morrow. He will need an extra appropria- 
tion from Congress to pay for his private 
cablegrams alone.” 

“ And there’s another thing,” said Stedman. 
“ In all your plans, you’ve arranged for the 
people’s improvement, but not for their amuse- 
ment; and they are a peaceful, jolly, simple 
sort of people, and we must please them.” 

“Have they no games or amusements of 
their own ? ” asked Gordon. 

“Well, not what we would call games.” 

“Very well, then. I’ll teach them base- 
ball. Foot-ball would be too warm. But 
that plaza in front of the King’s bungalow, 
where his palace is going to be, is just the 
place for a diamond. On the whole, though,’ 
added the consul, after a moment’s reflection, 
“you’d better attend to that yourself. I 
don’t think it becomes my dignity as Ameri- 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


37 


can consul, to take off my coat and give les- 
sons to young Opekians in sliding to bases ; 
do you? No; I think you’d better do that. 
The Bradleys will help you, and you had 
better begin to-morrow. You have been want- 
ing to know what a secretary of legation’s 
duties are, and now you know. It’s to or- 
ganize base-ball nines. And after you get 
yours ready,” he added, as he turned into his 
room for the night, “I’ll train one that will 
sweep yours off the face of the island. For 
this American consul can pitch three curves.” 

The best-laid plans of men go far astray, 
sometimes, and the great and beautiful city 
that was to rise on the coast of Opeki was 
not built in a day. Nor was it ever built. 
For before the Bradleys could mark out the 
foul-lines for the base-ball field on the plaza, 
or teach their standing army the goose step, 
or lay bamboo pipes for the water-mains, or 
clear away the cactus for the extension of the 
King’s palace, the Hillmen paid Opeki their 
quarterly visit. 

Albert had called on the King the next 
morning, with Stedman as his interpreter, as 
he had said he would, and with maps and 
sketches, had shown his Majesty what he 


38 


THE BEPOBTER WHO 


proposed to do towards improving Opeki and 
ennobling her king, and when the King saw 
Albert’s free-hand sketches of wharves with 
tall ships lying at anchor, and rows of Ope- 
kian warriors with the Bradleys at their 
head, and the design for his new palace, and 
a royal sedan chair, he believed that these 
things were already his, and not still only on 
paper, and he appointed Albert his Prime 
Minister of War, Stedman his Minister of 
Home Affairs, and selected two of his wisest 
and oldest subjects to serve them as joint ad- 
visers. His enthusiasm was even greater 
than Gordon’s, because he did not appreciate 
the difficulties. He thought Gordon a semi- 
god, a worker of miracles, and urged the 
putting up of a monument to him at once in 
the public plaza, to which Albert objected, 
on the ground that it would be too suggestive 
of an idol; and to which Stedman also ob- 
jected, but for the less unselfish reason that it 
would “be in the way of the pitcher’s box.” 

They were feverishly discussing all these 
great changes, and Stedman was translating as 
rapidly as he could translate, the speeches of 
four different men, — for the two counsellors 
had been called in, all of whom wanted to 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


39 


speak at once, — when there came from out- 
side, a great shout, and the screams of women, 
and the clashing of iron, and the pattering 
footsteps of men running. 

As they looked at one another in startled 
surprise, a native ran into the room, followed 
by Bradley, Jr., and threw himself down 
before the King. While he talked, beating 
his hands and bowing before Ollypybus, 
Bradley, Jr., pulled his forelock to the con- 
sul, and told how this man lived on the far 
outskirts of the village; how he had been 
captured while out hunting, by a number of 
the Hillmen ; and how he had escaped to tell 
the people that their old enemies were on 
the war path again, and rapidly approaching 
the village. 

Outside, the women were gathering in the 
plaza, with the children about them, and the 
men were running from hut to hut, warning 
their fellows, and arming themselves with 
spears and swords, and the native bows and 
arrows. 

“They might have waited until we had 
that army trained,” said Gordon, in a tone of 
the keenest displeasure. “Tell me, quick, 
what do they generally do when they come ? ’’ 


40 


THE REPORTER WHO 


“Steal all the cattle and goats, and a 
woman or two, and set fire to the huts in the 
outskirts,” replied Stedman. 

“Well, we must stop them,” said Gordon, 
jumping up. “We must take out a flag of 
truce and treat with them. They must be 
kept off until I have my army in working 
order. It is most inconvenient. If they had 
only waited two months, now, or six weeks 
even, we could have done something; hut 
now we must make peace. Tell the King 
we are going out to fix things with them, 
and tell him to keep off his warriors until he 
learns whether we succeed or fail. 

“ But, Gordon ! ” gasped Stedman. “ Albert ! 
You don’t understand. Why, man, this isn’t 
a street fight or a cane rush. They’ll stick 
you full of spears, dance on your body, and 
eat you, maybe. A flag of truce ! — • you’re 
talking nonsense. What do they know of a 
flag of truce ? ” 

“You’re talking nonsense, too,” said 
Albert, “and you’re talking to your superior 
officer. If you are not with me in this, go 
back to your cable, and tell the man in Oc- 
tavia that it’s a warm day, and that the 
sun is shining; but if you’ve any spirit in 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


41 


you, — and I think you have, — run to the 
office and get my Winchester rifles, and the 
two shot-guns, and my revolvers, and my 
uniform, and a lot of brass things for presents, 
and run all the way there and back. And 
make time. Play you’re riding a bicycle at 
the Agricultural Fair.” 

Stedman did not hear this last ; for he was 
already off and away, pushing through the 
crowd, and calling on Bradley, Sr., to follow 
him. Bradley, Jr., looked at Gordon with 
eyes that snapped like a dog that is waiting 
for his master to throw a stone. 

“I can fire a Winchester, sir,” he said. 
“Old Tom can’t. He’s no good at long 
range ’cept with a big gun, sir. Don’t give 
him the Winchester. Give it to me, please, 
sir.” 

- Albert met Stedman in the plaza, and 
pulled off his blazer, and put on Captain 
Travis’s — now his — uniform coat, and his 
white pith helmet. 

“Now, Jack,” he said, “get up there and 
tell these people that we are going out to 
make peace with these Hillmen, or bring 
them back prisoners of war. Tell them we 
are the preservers of their homes and wives 


42 


THE REPORTER WHO 


and children; and you, Bradley, take these 
presents, and young Bradley, keep close to 
me, and carry this rifle.” 

Stedman’s speech was hot and wild enough 
to suit a critical and feverish audience before 
a barricade in Paris. And when he was 
through, Gordon and Bradley punctuated 
his oration by firing off the two Winchester 
rifles in the air, at which the people jumped 
and fell on their knees, and prayed to their 
several gods. The fighting men of the village 
followed the four white men to the outskirts, 
and took up their stand there as Stedman told 
them to, and the four walked on over the 
roughly hewn road, to meet the enemy. 

Gordon walked with Bradley, Jr., in ad- 
vance. Stedman and old Tom Bradley 
followed close behind, with the two shot- 
guns, and the presents in a basket. 

“Are these Hillmen used to guns?” asked 
Gordon. Stedman said no, they were not. 

“This shot-gun of mine is the only one 
on the island,” he explained, “and we never 
came near enough them, before, to do anything 
with it. It only carries a hundred yards. The 
Opekians never make any show of resistance. 
They are quite content if the Hillmen satisfy 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


43 


themselves with the outlying huts, as long 
as they leave them and the town alone; so 
they seldom come to close quarters.” 

The four men walked on for a quarter of 
an hour or so, in silence, peering eagerly on 
every side ; but it was not until they had left 
the woods and marched out into the level 
stretch of grassy country, that they came 
upon the enemy. The Hillmen were about 
forty in number, and were as savage and ugly- 
looking giants as any in a picture book. 
They had captured a dozen cows and goats, 
and were driving them on before them, as 
they advanced further upon the village. 
When they saw the four men, they gave a 
mixed chorus of cries and yells, and some of 
them stopped, and others ran forward, shak- 
ing their spears, and shooting their broad 
arrows into the ground before them. A tall, 
gray-bearded, muscular old man, with a skirt 
of feathers about him, and necklaces of bones 
and animals’ claws around his bare chest, 
ran in front of them, and seemed to be trying 
to make them approach more slowly. 

“ Is that Messenwah ? ” asked Gordon. 

“Yes,” said Stedman; “he is trying 
keep them back. I don’t believe he ever 
saw a white man before.” 


44 


THE REPORTER WHO 


“Stedman,” said Albert, speaking quickly, 
“give your gun to Bradley, and go forward 
with your arms in the air, and waving your 
handkerchief, and tell them in their language 
that the King is coming. If they go at you, 
Bradley and I will kill a goat or two, to 
show them what we can do with the rifles ; 
and if that don’t stop them, we will shoot at 
their legs; and if that don’t stop them — I 
guess you’d better come back, and we’ll all 
run.” 

Stedman looked at Albert, and Albert 
looked at Stedman, and neither of them 
winced or flinched. 

“ Is this another of my secretary’s duties ? ” 
asked the younger boy. 

“Yes,” said the consul; “but a resignation 
is always in order. You needn’t go if you 
don’t like it. You see, you know the lan- 
guage and I don’t, but I know how to shoot, 
and you don’t.” 

“That’s perfectly satisfactory,” said Sted- 
man, handing his gun to old Bradley. “I 
only wanted to know why I was to be sacri- 
ficed, instead of one of the Bradleys. It’s 
because I know the language. Bradley, Sr., 
you see the evil results of a higher education. 



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MADE HIMSELF KING. 


45 


Wish me luck, please,” he said, “and for 
goodness’ sake,” he added impressively, 
“don’t waste much time shooting goats.” 

The Hillmen had stopped about two hun- 
dred yards off, and were drawn up in two 
lines, shouting, and dancing, and hurling 
taunting remarks at their few adversaries. 
The stolen cattle were bunched together back 
of the King. As Stedman walked steadily 
forward with his handkerchief fluttering, and 
howling out something in their own tongue, 
they stopped and listened. As he advanced, 
his three companions followed him at about 
fifty yards in the rear. He was one hundred 
and fifty yards from the Hillmen, before they 
made out what he said, and then one of the 
young braves, resenting it as an insult to his 
chief, shot an arrow at him. Stedman dodged 
the arrow, and stood his ground without even 
taking a step backwards, only turning slightly 
to put his hands to his mouth, and to shout 
something which sounded to his companions 
like, “ About time to begin on the goats. ” But 
the instant the young man had fired. King 
Messenwah swung his club and knocked him 
down, and none of the others moved. Then 
Messenwah advanced before his men to meet 


46 


THE REPORTEB WHO 


Stedman, and on Stedman’s opening and 
shutting his hands to show that he was un- 
armed, the King threw down his club and 
spears, and came forward as empty-handed as 
himself. 

“Ah,” gasped Bradley, Jr., with his finger 
trembling on his lever, “ let me take a shot 
at him now.” Gordon struck the man’s gun 
up, and walked forward in all the glory 
of his gold and blue uniform; for both he 
and Stedman saw now that Messenwah was 
more impressed by their appearance, and in 
the fact that they were white men, than with 
any threats of immediate war. So when he 
saluted Gordon haughtily, that young man 
gave him a haughty nod in return, and bade 
Stedman tell the King that he would permit 
him to sit down. The King did not quite 
appear to like this, but he sat down, never- 
theless, and nodded his head gravely. 

“Now tell him,” said Gordon, “that I 
come from the ruler of the greatest nation on 
earth, and that I recognize Ollypybus as the 
only King of this island, and that I come to 
this little three-penny King with either peace 
and presents, or bullets and war.” 

“Have I got to tell him he’s a little 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


47 


three-penny King?” said Stedman, plain- 
tively. 

“No; you needn’t give a literal transla- 
tion; it can be as free as you please.” 

“Thanks,” said the secretary, humbly. 

“And tell him,” continued Gordon, “that 
we will give presents to him and his warriors 
if he keeps away from Ollypybus, and agrees 
to keep away always. If he won’t do that, 
try to get him to agree to stay away for 
three months at least, and by that time we 
can get word to San Francisco, and have a 
dozen muskets over here in two months ; and 
when our time of probation is up, and he and 
his merry men come dancing down the hill- 
side, we will blow them up as high as his 
mountains. But you needn’t tell him that, 
either. And if he is proud and haughty, 
and would rather fight, ask him to restrain 
himself until we show what we can do with 
our weapons at two hundred yards.” 

Stedman seated himself in the long grass 
in front of the King, and with many revolv- 
ing gestures of his arms, and much pointing 
at Gordon, and profound nods and bows, 
retold what Gordon had dictated. When he 
had finished, the King looked at the bundle 


48 


THE REPORTER WHO 


of presents, and at the guns, of which Sted- 
man had given a very wonderful account, 
but answered nothing. 

“I guess,” said Stedman, with a sigh, 
“that we will have to give him a little 
practical demonstration to help matters. I 
am sorry, but I think one of those goats has 
got to die. It’s like vivisection. The lower 
order of animals have to suffer for the good 
of the higher.” 

“Oh,” said Bradley, Jr., cheerfully, “I’d 
just as soon shoot one of those niggers as 
one of the goats.” 

So Stedman bade the King tell his men 
to drive a goat towards them, and the King 
did so, and one of the men struck one of the 
goats with his spear, and it ran clumsily 
across the plain. 

“Take your time, Bradley,” said Gordon. 
“ Aim low, and if you hit it, you can have it 
for supper.” 

“And if you miss it,” said Stedman, 
gloomily, “ Messenwah may have us for sup- 
per.” 

The Hillmen had seated themselves a 
hundred yards off, while the leaders were 
debating, and they now rose curiously and 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


49 


watched Bradley, as he sank upon one knee, 
and covered the goat with his rifle. When 
it was about one hundred and fifty yards off, 
he fired, and the goat fell over dead. 

And then all the Hillmen, with the King 
himself, broke away on a run, towards the 
dead animal, with much shouting. The King 
came back alone, leaving his people standing 
about and examining the goat. He was 
much excited, and talked and gesticulated 
violently. 

“He says — ” said Stedman; “He says — 

“What? yes; go on.” 

“ He says — goodness me ! — what do you 
think he says ? ” 

“Well, what does he say?” cried Gordon, 
in a great state of nerves. “Don’t keep it 
all to yourself.” 

“He says,” said Stedman, “that we are 
deceived. That he is no longer King of the 
Island of Opeki, that he is in great fear of 
us, and that he has got himself into no end 
of trouble. He says he sees that we are in- 
deed mighty men, that to us he is as helpless 
as the wild boar before the javelin of the 
hunter.” 

“Well, he’s right,” said Gordon. “ Go on.** 


50 


THE BEPORTER WHO 


“ But that which we ask is no longer his 
to give. He has sold his kingship and his 
right to this island to another king, who 
came to him two days ago in a great canoe, 
and who made noises as we do, — with guns, I 
suppose he means, — and to whom he sold the 
island for a watch that he has in a bag 
around his neck. And that he signed a 
paper, and made marks on a piece of bark, to 
show that he gave up the island freely and 
forever.” 

“What does he mean?” said Gordon. 
“ How can he give up the island. Ollypybus 
is the king of half of it, anyway, and he 
knows it.” 

“That’s just it,” said Stedman. “That’s 
what frightens him. He said he didn’t 
care about Ollypybus, and didn’t count him 
in when he made the treaty, because he is 
such a peaceful chap that he knew he could 
thrash him into doing anything he wanted 
him to do. And now that you have turned 
up and taken Ollypybus ’s part, he wishes he 
hadn’t sold the island, and wishes to know 
if you are angry.” 

“Angry? of course I’m angry,” said Gor- 
don, glaring as grimly at the frightened 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


51 


monarcli as he thought was safe. “Who 
wouldn’t be angry ? Who do you think these 
people were who made a fool of him, Sted- 
man? Ask him to let us see this watch.” 

Stedman did so, and the King fumbled 
among his necklaces until he had brought 
out a leather bag tied round his neck with a 
cord, and containing a plain stem-winding 
silver watch marked on the inside “Munich.” 

“That doesn’t tell anything,” said Gor- 
don. “ But it’s plain enough. Some foreign 
ship of war has settled on this place as a coal- 
ing-station, or has annexed it for coloniza- 
tion, and they’ve sent a boat ashore, and 
they’ve made a treaty with this old chap, and 
forced him to sell his birthright for a mess 
of porridge. Now, that’s just like those 
monarchical pirates; imposing upon a poor 
old black.” 

Old Bradley looked at him impudently. 

“Not at all,” said Gc^rdon; “it’s quite 
different with us ; we don’t want to rob him 
or Ollypybus, or to annex their land. All 
we want to do is to improve it, and have the 
fun of running it for them and meddling in 
their affairs of state. Well, Stedman,” he 
said, “what shall we do?” 


52 


THE BEPORTER WHO 


Stedman said that the best and only thing 
to do was to threaten to take the watch away 
from Messenwah, but to give him a revolver 
instead, which would make a friend of him 
for life, and to keep him supplied with car' 
tridges only as long as he behaved himself, 
and then to make him understand that as 
Ollypybus had not given his consent to the 
loss of the island, Messenwah’s agreement, 
or treaty, or whatever it was, did not stand, 
and that he had better come down the next 
day, early in the morning, and join in a gen- 
eral consultation. This was done, and Mes- 
senwah agreed willingly to their proposition, 
and was given his revolver and shown how to 
shoot it, while the other presents were dis- 
tributed among the other men, who were as 
happy over them as girls with a full dance-card. 

“ 4nd now, to-morrow,” said Stedman, 
“ understand, you are all to come down un- 
armed, and sign a treaty with great Ollypy- 
bus, in which he will agree to keep to one half 
of the island, if you keep to yours, and there 
must be no more wars or goat stealing, or 
this gentleman on my right and I will come 
up and put holes in you just as the gentle- 
man on the left did with the goat.” 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


53 


Messenwah and his warriors promised to 
come early, and saluted reverently as Gordon 
and his three companions walked up together 
very proudly and stiffly. 

“Do you know how I feel?” said Gordon. 

“How?” asked Stedman. 

“ I feel as I used to do in the city, when 
the boys in the street were throwing snow- 
balls, and I had to go by with a high hat on 
my head and pretend not to know they were 
behind me. I always felt a cold chill down 
my spinal column, and I could feel that 
snow-ball, whether it came or not, right in 
the small of my back. And I can feel one of 
those men pulling his bow, now, and the 
arrow sticking out of my right shoulder.” 

“ Oh, no, you can’t,” said Stedman. “ They 
are too afraid of those rifles. But I do feel 
sorry for any of those warriors whom old man 
Massenwah doesn’t like, now that he has that 
revolver. He isn’t the sort to practise on 
goats.” 

There was great rejoicing when Stedman 
and Gordon told their story to the King, and 
the people learned they were not to have their 
huts burned and their cattle stolen. The 
armed Opekians formed a guard around the 


64 


THE REPORTER WHO 


ambassadors and escorted them to their homes 
with cheers and shouts, and the women ran at 
their side and tried to kiss Gordon’s hand. 

“I’m sorry I can’t speak the language, 
Stedman,” said Gordon, “or I would tell 
them what a brave man you are. You are 
too modest to do it yourself, even if I dictated 
something for you to say. As for me,” he 
said, pulling off his uniform, “I am thor- 
oughly disgusted and disappointed. It 
never occurred to me until it was all over, 
that this was my chance to be a war corre- 
spondent. It wouldn’t have been much of a 
war, but then I would have been the only 
one on the spot, and that counts for a great 
deal. Still, my time may come.” 

“We have a great deal on hand for to- 
morrow,” said Gordon that evening, “and 
we had better turn in early.” 

And so the people were still singing and 
rejoicing down in the village, when the two 
conspirators for the peace of the country 
went to sleep for the night. It seemed to 
Gordon as though he had hardly turned his 
pillow twice to get the coolest side, when 
some one touched him, and he saw, by the 
light of the dozen glowworms in the tumbler 
by his bedside, a tall figure at its foot. 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


55 


“It’s me — Bradley,” said the figure. 

“Yes,” said Gordon, with the haste of a 
man to show that sleep has no hold on him ; 
“exactly; what is it?” 

“There is a ship of war in the harbor,” 
said Bradley, in a whisper. “ I heard her an- 
chor chains rattle when she came to, and that 
woke me. I could hear that if I were dead. 
And then I made sure by her lights ; she’s a 
great boat, sir, and I can know she’s a ship of 
war by the challenging, when they change the 
watch. I thought you’d like to know, sir.” 

Gordon sat up and clutched his knees with 
his hands. “Yes, of course,” he said; “you 
are quite right. Still, I don’t see what there 
is to do.” 

He did not wish to show too much youth- 
ful interest, but though fresh from civiliza- 
tion, he had learnt how far from it he was, 
and he was curious to see this sign of it that 
had come so much more quickly than he had 
anticipated. 

“Wake Mr. Stedman, will you?” said he, 
“and we will go and take a look at her.” 

“You can see nothing but the lights,” 
said Bradley, as he left the room; “it’s a 
black night, sir.” 


66 


THE REPORTER WHO 


Stedman was not new from the sight of 
men and ships of war, and came in half 
dressed and eager. 

“ Do you suppose it’s the big canoe Mes- 
senwah spoke of?” he said. 

“I thought of that,” said Gordon. 

The three men fumbled their way down 
the road to the plaza, and saw, as soon as 
they turned into it, the great outlines and 
the brilliant lights of an immense vessel, 
still more immense in the darkness, and 
glowing like a strange monster of the sea, 
with just a suggestion here and there, where 
the lights spread, of her cabins and bridges. 
As they stood on the shore, shivering in the 
cool night wind, they heard the bells strike 
over the water. 

“It’s two o’clock,” said Bradley, count- 
ing. 

“Well, we can do nothing, and they can- 
not mean to do much to-night,” Albert said. 
“We had better get some more sleep, and, 
Bradley, you keep watch and tell us as soon 
as day breaks.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the sailor. 

“If that’s the man-of-war that made the 
treaty with Messenwah, and Messenwah 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


67 


turns up to-morrow, it looks as if our day 
would be pretty well filled up,” said Albert, 
as they felt their way back to the darkness. 

“What do you intend to do?” asked his 
secretary, with a voice of some concern. 

“I don’t know,” Albert answered gravely, 
from the blackness of the night. “ It looks as 
if we were getting ahead just a little too fast ; 
doesn’t it? Well,” he added, as they reached 
the house, “ let’s try to keep in step with the 
procession, even if we can’t be drum-majors 
and walk in front of it.” And with this 
cheering tone of confidence in their ears, the 
two diplomats went soundly asleep again. 

The light of the rising sun filled the room, 
and the parrots were chattering outside, when 
Bradley woke him again. 

“They are sending a boat ashore, sir,” he 
said excitedly, and filled with the importance 
of the occasion. “She’s a German man-of- 
war, and one of the new model. A beautiful 
boat, sir; for her lines were laid in Glasgow, 
and I can tell that, no matter what flag she 
flies. You had best be moving to meet 
them: the village isn’t awake yet.” 

Albert took a cold bath and dressed lei- 
surely; then he made Bradley, Jr., who had 


58 


TEE BEPORTER WHO 


slept through it all, get up breakfast, and 
the two young men ate it and drank their 
coffee comfortably and with an air of confi- 
dence that deceived their servants, if it did 
not deceive themselves. But when they 
came down the path, smoking and swinging 
their sticks, and turned into the plaza, their 
composure left them like a mask, and they 
stopped where they stood. The plaza was 
enclosed by the natives gathered in whisper- 
ing groups, and depressed by fear and won- 
der. On one side were crowded all the 
Messenwah warriors, unarmed, and as silent 
and disturbed as the Opekians. In the mid- 
dle of the plaza some twenty sailors were 
busily rearing and bracing a tall fiag-staff 
that they had shaped from a royal palm, and 
they did this as unconcernedly and as con- 
temptuously, and with as much indifference 
to the strange groups on either side of them, 
as though they were working on a barren 
coast, with nothing but the startled sea-gulls 
about them. As Albert and Stedman came 
upon the scene, the fiag-pole was in place, 
and the halliards hung from it with a little 
bundle of bunting at the end of one of 
them. 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


69 


“We must find the King at once,” said 
Gordon. He was terribly excited and angry. 
“ It is easy enough to see what this means. 
They are going through the form of annexing 
this island to the other lands of the German 
government. They are robbing old Ollypybus 
of what is his. They have not even given 
him a silver watch for it.” 

The King was in his bungalow, facing the 
plaza. Messenwah was with him, and an 
equal number of each of their councils. The 
common danger had made them lie down 
together in peace ; but they gave a gasp oi 
relief as Gordon strode into the room with no 
ceremony, and greeted them with a curt wave 
of the hand. 

“Now then, Stedman, be quick,” he said. 
“Explain to them what this means; tell 
them that I will protect them; that I am 
anxious to see that Ollypybus is not cheated ; 
that we will do all we can for them.” 

Outside, on the shore, a second boat’s crew 
had landed a group of officers and a file of 
marines. They walked in all the dignity of 
full dress across the plaza to the flag-pole, 
and formed in line on the three sides of it, 
with the marines facing the sea. The officers, 


60 


THE REPORTER WHO 


from the captain with a prayer book in his 
hand, to the youngest middy, were as indif- 
ferent to the frightened natives about them 
as the other men had been. The natives, 
awed and afraid, crouched back among their 
huts, the marines and the sailors kept their 
eyes front, and the German captain opened 
his prayer book. The debate in the bunga- 
low was over. 

“ If you only had your uniform, sir, ” said 
Bradley, Sr., miserably. 

“This is a little bit too serious for uni- 
forms and bicycle medals,” said Gordon. 
“And these men are used to gold lace.” 

He pushed his way through the natives, 
and stepped confidently across the plaza. 
The youngest middy saw him coming, and 
nudged the one next him with his elbow, and 
he nudged the next, but none of the officers 
moved, because the captain had begun to read. 

“One minute, please,” called Gordon. 

He stepped out into the hollow square 
formed by the marines, and raised his helmet 
to the captain. 

“Do you speak English or French?” Gor- 
don said in French; “I do not understand 
German.” 


MADE HIMSELF KINO, 


61 


The captain lowered the book in his hands 
and gazed reflectively at Gordon through his 
spectacles, and made no reply. 

“If I understand this,’’ said the younger 
man, trying to be very impressive and polite, 
“ you are laying claim to this land, in behalf 
of the German government.” 

The captain continued to observe him 
thoughtfully, and then said, “That iss so,” 
and then asked, “ Who are you ? ” 

“1 represent the King of this island, 
Ollypybus, whose people you see around you. 
I also represent the United States govern- 
ment that does not tolerate a foreign power 
near her coast, since the days of President 
Monroe and before. The treaty you have 
made with Messenwah is an absurdity. There 
is only one king with whom to treat, and 
he — ” 

The captain turned to one of his ofiicers 
and said something, and then, after giving 
another curious glance at Gordon, raised his 
book and continued reading, in a deep, un- 
ruffled monotone. The offlcer whispered an 
order, and two of the marines stepped out of 
line, and dropping the muzzles of their 
muskets, pushed Gordon back out of the en- 


62 


TEE EEPORTEB WHO 


closure, and left him there with his lips 
white, and trembling all over with indigna- 
tion. He would have liked to have rushed 
back into the lines and broken the captain’s 
spectacles over his sun-tanned nose and 
cheeks, but he was quite sure this would 
only result in his getting shot, or in his 
being made ridiculous before the natives, and 
that was almost as bad, so he stood still for a 
moment, with his blood choking him, and 
then turned and walked back where the King 
and Stedman were whispering together. Just 
as he turned, one of the men pulled the 
halliards, the ball of bunting ran up into the 
air, bobbed, twitched, and turned, and broke 
into the folds of the German flag. At the 
same moment the marines raised their mus- 
kets and fired a volley, and the officers saluted 
and the sailors cheered. 

“ Do you see that?” cried Stedman, catching 
Gordon’s humor, to Ollypybus; “that means 
that you are no longer king, that strange 
people are coming here to take your land, 
and to turn your people into servants, and to 
drive you back into the mountains. Are 
you going to submit? are you going to let 
that flag stay where it is ? ” 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


63 


Messenwah and Ollypybus gazed at one 
another with fearful, helpless eyes. “We 
are afraid,” Ollypybus cried; “we do not 
know what we should do.” 

“What do they say?” asked Gordon. 

“They say they do not know what to do.” 

“I know what I’d do,” cried Gordon. 
“If I were not an American consul, I’d pull 
down their old flag, and put a hole in their 
boat and sink her.” 

“Well, I’d wait until they get under way, 
before you do either of those things,” said 
Stedman soothingly. “ That captain seems to 
be a man of much determination of character.” 

“But I will pull it down,” cried Gordon. 
“ I will resign, as Travis did. I am no longer 
consul. You can be consul if you want to. 
I promote you. I am going up a step higher. 
I mean to be king. Tell those two,” he 
ran on excitedly, “that their only course 
and only hope is in me ; that they must make 
me ruler of the island until this thing is 
over ; that I will resign again as soon as it is 
settled, but that some one must act at once, 
and if they are afraid to, I am not, only they 
must give me authority to act for them. They 
must abdicate in my favor.” 


64 


THE REPORTER WHO 


“Are you in earnest?” gasped Stedman. 

“Don’t I talk as if I was?” demanded 
Gordon, wiping the perspiration from his 
forehead. 

“And can I be consul?” said Stedman, 
cheerfully. 

“ Of course. Tell them what I propose to 
do.” 

Stedman turned and spoke rapidly to the 
two kings . The people gathered closer to hear. 

The two rival monarchs looked at one 
another in silence for a moment, and then 
both began to speak at once, their consularj 
interrupting them and mumbling their gut- 
tural comments with anxious earnestness. It 
did not take them very long to see that they 
were all of one mind, and then they both 
turned to Gordon and dropped on one knee, 
and placed his hands on their foreheads, and 
Stedman raised his cap. 

“ They agree,” he explained, for it was but 
pantomime to Albert. “ They salute you as 
a ruler; they are calling you Tellaman, 
which means peacemaker. The Peacemaker, 
that is your title. I hope you will deserve 
it, but I think they might have chosen a 
more appropriate one.” 


MALE HIMSELF KING, 


65 


“Then I’m really King?” demanded Al- 
bert, decidedly, “ and I can do what I please ? 
They give me full power. Quick, do they ? ’' 

“Yes, but don’t do it,” begged Stedman, 
“ and just remember I am American consul 
now, and that is a much superior being to a 
crowned monarch; you said so yourself.” 

Albert did not reply to this, but ran across 
the plaza followed by the two Bradleys. 
The boats had gone. 

“Hoist that flag beside the brass cannon,” 
he cried, “ and stand ready to salute it when 
I drop this one.” 

Bradley, Jr., grasped the halliards of the 
flag, which he had forgotten to raise and 
salute in the morning in all the excitement 
of the man-of-war’s arrival. Bradley, Sr., 
stood by the brass cannon, blowing gently 
on his lighted fuse. The Peacemaker took 
the halliards of the German flag in his two 
hands, gave a quick, sharp tug, and down 
came the red, white, .and black piece of bunt- 
ing, and the next moment young Bradley 
sent the stars and stripes up in their place. 
As it rose, Bradley’s brass cannon barked 
merrily like a little bull-dog, and the Peace- 
maker cheered. 


66 


THE REPOBTEB WHO 


“Why don’t you cheer, Stedman?” he 
shouted. “ Tell those people to cheer for all 
they are worth. What sort of an American 
consul are you?” 

Stedman raised his arm half-heartedly to 
give the time, and opened his mouth ; but his 
arm remained fixed and his mouth open, 
while his eyes stared at the retreating boat of 
the German man-of-war. In the stern sheets 
of this boat, the stout German captain was 
struggling unsteadily to his feet; he raised 
his arm and waved it to some one on the great 
man-of-war, as though giving an order. The 
natives looked from Stedman to the boat, and 
even Gordon stopped in his cheering and 
stood motionless, watching. They had not 
very long to wait. There was a puff of white 
smoke, and a flash, and then a loud report, 
and across the water came a great black ball 
skipping lightly through and over the waves, 
as easily as a flat stone thrown by a boy. It 
seemed to come very slowly. At least it 
came slowly enough for every one to see that 
it was coming directly towards the brass can- 
non. The Bradleys saw this certainly, for 
they ran as fast as they could, and kept on 
running. The ball caught the cannon under 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


67 


its mouth, and tossed it in the air, knocking 
the flag-pole into a dozen pieces, and passing 
on through two of the palm-covered huts. 

“ Great Heavens, Gordon ! ” cried Stedman ; 
“they are firing on us.” 

But Gordon’s face was radiant and wild. 

“ Firing on ws ” he cried. “ On us ! Don’t 
you see? Don’t you understand? What do 
we amount to? They have fired on the 
American flag. Don’t you see what that 
means? It means war. A great interna- 
tional war. And I am a war correspondent 
at last! ” He ran up to Stedman and seized 
him by the arm so tightly that it hurt. 

“By three o’clock,” he said, “they will 
know in the office what has happened. The 
country will know it to-morrow when the 
paper is on the street ; people will read it all 
over the world. The Emperor will hear of 
it at breakfast ; the President will cable for 
further particulars. He will get them. It 
is the chance of a lifetime, and we are on the 
spot.” 

Stedman did not hear this ; he was watch- 
ing the broadside of the ship to see another 
puff of white smoke, but there came no such 
sign. The two row-boats were raised, there 


68 


THE REPORTER WHO 


was a cloud of black smoke from the funnel, 
a creaking of chains sounding faintly across 
the water, and the ship started at half speed 
and moved out of the harbor. The Opekians 
and the Hillmen fell on their knees, or to 
dancing, as best suited their sense of relief, 
but Gordon shook his head. 

“They are only going to land the ma- 
rines,” he said; “perhaps they are going to 
the spot they stopped at before, or to take up 
another position further out at sea. They 
will land men and then shell the town, and 
the land forces will march here and co-operate 
with the vessel, and everybody will be taken 
prisoner or killed. We have the centre of 
the stage, and we are making history. ’ ’ 

“I’d rather read it than make it,” said 
Stedman. “You’ve got us in a senseless, 
silly position, Gordon, and a mighty un- 
pleasant one. And for no reason that I can 
see, except to make copy for your paper. ’ ’ 

“ Tell those people to get their things to- 
gether,” said Gordon, “and march back out 
of danger into the woods. Tell Ollypybus I 
am going to fix things all right; I don’t 
know just how yet, but I will, and now come 
after me as quickly as you can to the cable 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


69 


office. I’ve got to tell the paper all about 
it.” 

It was three o’clock before the “chap at 
Octavia” answered Stedman’s signalling. 
Then Stedman delivered Gordon’s message, 
and immediately shut off all connection, 
before the Octavia operator could question 
him. Gordon dictated his message in this 
way : — 

“ Begin with the date line, ‘ Opeki, J une 22. ’ 

“At seven o’clock this morning, the cap- 
tain and officers of the German man-of-war 
Kaiser went through the ceremony of annex- 
ing this island in the name of the German 
Emperor, basing their right to do so on an 
agreement made with a leader of a wandering 
tribe, known as the Hillmen. King Olly- 
pybus, the present monarch of Opeki, del- 
egated his authority, as also did the leader 
of the Hillmen, to King Tallaman, or the 
Peacemaker, who tore down the German flag, 
and raised that of the United States in its 
place. At the same moment the flag was 
saluted by the battery. This salute, being 
mistaken for an attack on the Kaiser^ was 
answered by that vessel. Her first shot took 
immediate effect, completely destroying the 


70 


TEE BEPOBTEB WHO 


entire battery of the Opekians, cutting down 
the American flag, and destroying the houses 
of the people — ” 

“ There was only one brass cannon and two 
huts,” expostulated Stedman. 

“Well, that was the whole battery, wasn’t 
it?” asked Gordon, “and two huts is plural. 
I said houses of the people. I couldn’t say 
two house of the people. Just you send this 
as you get it. You are not an American 
consul at the present moment. You are an 
under-paid agent of a cable company, and 
you send my stuff as I write it. The Ameri- 
can residents have taken refuge in the con- 
sulate : — that’s us,” explained Gordon, “and 
the English residents have sought refuge in 
the woods — that’s the Bradleys. King 
Tellaman — that’s me — declares his inten- 
tion of fighting against the annexation. The 
forces of the Opekians are under the com- 
mand of Captain Thomas Bradley — I guess I 
might as well made him a colonel — of Colonel 
Thomas Bradley, of the English army. 

“The American consul says — Now, what 
do you say, Stedman? Hurry up, please,” 
asked Gordon, “ and say something good and 
strong.” 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


71 


“You get me all mixed up,” complained 
Stedman, plaintively. “Which am I now, 
a cable operator or the American consul? ” 

“ Consul, of course. Say something patri- 
otic and about your determination to protect 
the interests of your government, and all 
that.” Gordon bit the end of his pencil 
impatiently, and waited. 

“I won’t be anything of the sort, Gordon,” 
said Stedman ; “ you are getting me into an 
awful lot of trouble, and yourself too. I 
won’t say a word.” 

“The American consul,” read Gordon, as 
his pencil wriggled across the paper, “ refuses 
to say anything for publication until he has 
communicated with the authorities at Wash- 
ington, but from all I can learn he sym- 
pathizes entirely with Tellaman. Your 
correspondent has just returned from an 
audience with King Tellaman, who asks him 
to inform the American people that the 
Monroe doctrine will be sustained as long as 
he rules this island. I guess that’s enough 
to begin with,” said Gordon. “Now send 
that off quick, and then get away from the 
instrument before the man in Octavia begins 
to ask questions. I am going out to precipi- 
tate matters.” 


72 


THE BEFOBTEB WHO 


Gordon found the two kings sitting de- 
jectedly side by side, and gazing grimly upon 
the disorder of the village, from which the 
people were taking their leave as quickly as 
they could get their few belongings piled 
upon the ox-carts.' Gordon walked amongst 
them, helping them in every way he could, 
and tasting, in their subservience and grat- 
itude, the sweets of sovereignty. When 
Stedman had locked up the cable office and 
rejoined him, he bade him tell Messenwah to 
send three of his youngest men and fastest 
runners back to the hills to watch for the 
German vessel and see where she was at- 
tempting to land her marines. 

“This is a tremendous chance for de- 
scriptive writing, Stedman,” said Gordon, 
enthusiastically, “all this confusion and ex- 
citement, and the people leaving their homes 
and all that. It’s like the people getting out 
of Brussels before Waterloo, and then the 
scene at the foot of the mountains, while 
they are camping out there, until the Ger- 
mans leave. I never had a chance like this 
before.” 

It was quite dark by six o’clock, and none 
of the three messengers had as yet returned. 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


73 


Gordon walked up and down the empty 
plaza and looked now at the horizon for the 
man-of-war, and again down the road back of 
the village. But neither the vessel nor the 
messengers, bearing word of her, appeared. 
The night passed without any incident, and 
in the morning Gordon’s impatience became 
so great that he walked out to where the 
villagers were in camp and passed on half 
way up the mountain, but he could see no 
sign of the man-of-war. He came back 
more restless than before, and keenly dis- 
appointed. 

“If something don’t happen before three 
o’clock, Stedman,” he said, “our second 
cablegram will have to consist of glittering 
generalities and a lengthy interview with 
King Tellaman, by himself.” 

Nothing did happen. Ollypybus and Mes- 
senwah began to breathe more freely. They 
believed the new king had succeeded in 
frightening the German vessel away forever. 
But the new king upset their hopes by tell- 
ing them that the Germans had undoubtedly 
already landed, and had probably killed the 
three messengers. 

“ Now, then,” he said, with pleased expecta- 


74 


THE BEPOBTEB WHO 


tion, as Stedman and he seated themselves 
in the cable office at three o’clock, “open it 
up and let’s find out what sort of an impres- 
sion we have made.” 

Stedman’s face, as the answer came in to 
his first message of greeting, was one of 
strangely marked disapproval. 

“ What does he say ? ’ ’ demanded Gordon, 
anxiously. 

“He hasn’t done anything but swear yet,** 
answered Stedman, grimly. 

“What is he swearing about?” 

“ He wants to know why I left the cable 
yesterday. He says he has been trying to 
call me up for the last twenty-four hours. 
Ever since I sent my message at three o’clock. 
The home office is jumping mad, and want 
me discharged. They won’t do that, though, ’ ’ 
he said, in a cheerful aside, “because they 
haven’t paid me my salary for the last eight 
months. He says — great Scott! this will 
please you, Gordon — he says there have been 
over two hundred queries for matter from 
papers all over the United States, and from 
Europe. Your paper beat them on the news, 
and now the home office is packed with San 
Francisco reporters, and the telegrams are 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


75 


coming in every minute, and they have been 
abusing him for not answering them, and 
he says that I’m a fool. He wants as much 
as you can send, and all the details. He says 
all the papers will have to put ‘By Yokohama 
Cable Company ’ on the top of each message 
they print, and that that is advertising the 
company, and is sending the stock up. It 
rose fifteen points on ’change in San Fran- 
cisco to-day, and the president and the other 
officers — ” 

“ Oh, I don’t want to hear about their old 
company,” snapped out Gordon, pacing up 
and down in despair. “ What am I to do ? 
that’s what I want to know. Here I hav^ the 
whole country stirred up and begging for 
news. On their knees for it, and a cable all 
to myself and the only man on the spot, and 
nothing to say. I’d just like to know how 
long that German idiot intends to wait before 
he begins shelling this town and killing 
people. He has put me in- a most absurd 
position.” 

“Here’s a message for you, Gordon,” said 
Stedman, with business-like calm. “Albert 
Gordon, Correspondent,” he read: “Try 
American consul. First message O.K. ; beat 


76 


THE REPORTER WHO 


the country; can take all you send. Give 
names of foreign residents massacred, and 
fuller account blowing up palace. Dodge.” 

The expression on Gordon’s face as this 
message was slowly read off to him, had 
changed from one of gratified pride to one 
of puzzled consternation. 

“What’s he mean by foreign residents 
massacred, and blowing up of palace ? ’ ’ 
asked Stedman, looking over his shoulder 
anxiously. “ Who is Dodge ? ” 

“D dge is the night editor,” said Gordon, 
nervously. “ They must have read my 
message wrong. You sent just what I gave 
you, didn’t you? ” he asked. 

“Of course I did,” said Stedman, indig- 
nantly. 

“ I didn’t say anything about the massacre 
of anybody, did I ? ” asked Gordon. “ I hope 
they are not improving on my account. 
What am I to do ? This is getting awful. I’ll 
have to go out and kill a few people myself. 
Oh, why don’t that Dutch captain begin to 
do something! What sort of a fighter does 
he call himself? He wouldn’t shoot at a 
school of porpoises. He’s not — ” 

“Here comes a message to Leonard T. 


MADE HIMSELF KING, 


77 


Travis, American consul, Opeki,” read 
Stedman. “It’s raining messages to-day. 
‘ Send full details of massacre of American 
citizens by German sailors. ’ Secretary of — 
great Scott! ” gasped Stedman, interrupting 
himself and gazing at his instrument w^^h 
horrified fascination — “ the Secretary of 
State.” 

“That settles it,” roared Gordon, pulling 
at his hair and burying his face in his hands. 
“I have ^ot to kill some of them now.” 

“Albert Gordon, Correspondent,” read 
Stedman, impressively, like the voice of Fate. 
“Is Colonel Thomas Bradley commanding 
native forces at Opeki, Colonel Sir Thomas 
Kent-Bradley of Crimean war fame? Cor- 
respondent London Times^ San Francisco 
Press Club.” 

“ Go on, go on! ” said Gordon, desperately. 
“I’m getting used to it now. Goon!” 

“ American consul, Opeki, ’ ’ read Stedman. 
“ Home Secretary desires you to furnish list 
of names English residents killed during 
shelling of Opeki by ship of war Kaiser^ and 
estimate of amount property destroyed. 
Stoughton, Office of English consul, San 
Francisco.” 


78 


THE REPORTER WHO 


“ Stedman ! ’ ’ cried Gordon, jumping to his 
feet, “there’s a mistake here somewhere. 
These people cannot all have made my mes- 
sage read like that. Some one has altered it, 
and now I have got to make these people here 
live up to that message, whether they like 
being massacred and blown up or not. Don’t 
answer any of those messages, except the one 
from Dodge; tell him things have quieted 
down a bit, and that I’ll send four thousand 
words on the flight of the natives from the 
village, and their encampment at the foot of 
the mountains, and of the exploring party 
we have sent out to look for the German 
vessel; and now I am going out to make 
something happen. ’ ’ 

Gordon said he would be gone for two 
hours at least, and as Stedman did not feel 
capable of receiving any more nerve-stirring 
messages, he cut off all connection with Oc- 
tavia, by saying, “ Good by for two hours, ’ ’ 
and running away from the office. He sat 
down on a rock on the beach, and mopped 
his face with his handkerchief. 

“ After a man has taken nothing more ex- 
citing than weather reports from Octavia for 
a year,” he soliloquized, “it’s a bit disturb- 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


79 


ing to have all the crowned heads of Europe 
and their secretaries calling upon you for 
details of a massacre that never came off.” 

At the end of two hours Gordon came 
back from the consulate with a mass of 
manuscript in his hand. 

“Here’s three thousand words,” he said 
desperately. “ I never wrote more and said 
less in my life. It will made them weep at 
the office. I had to pretend that they knew 
all that had happened so far ; they apparently 
do know more than we do, and I have filled it 
full of prophesies of more trouble ahead, and 
with interviews with myself and the two ex- 
Kings. The only news element in it is, that 
the messengers have returned to report that 
the German vessel is not in sight, and 
that there is no news. They think she has 
gone for good. Suppose she has, Stedman,” 
he groaned, looking at him helplessly, “ what 
am I going to do ? ” 

“Well, as for me,” said Stedman, “I’m 
afraid to go near that cable. It’s like play- 
ing with a live wire. My nervous system 
won’t stand many more such shocks as those 
they gave us this morning. ’ ’ 

Gordon threw himself down dejectedly in 


80 


THE EEPOBTER WHO 


a chair in the office, and Stedman approached 
his instrument gingerly, as though it might 
explode. 

“He’s swearing again,” he explained 
sadly, in answer to Gordon’s look of inquiry. 
“ He wants to know when I am going to stop 
running away from the wire. He has a stack 
of messages to send, he says, but I guess 
he’d better wait and take your copy first; 
don’t you think so? ” 

“ Yes, I do, ” said Gordon. “ I don’t want 
any more messages than I’ve had. That’s 
the best I can do, ’ ’ he said, as he threw his 
manuscript down beside Stedman. “And 
they can keep on cabling until the wire burns 
red hot, and they won’t get any more.” 

There was silence in the office for some 
time, while Stedman looked over Gordon’s 
copy, and Gordon stared dejectedly out at 
the ocean. 

“This is pretty poor stuff, Gordon,” said 
Stedman. “It’s like giving people milk 
when they want brandy.” 

“Don’t you suppose I know that?” 
growled Gordon. “It’s the best I can do, 
isn’t it ? It’s not my fault that we are not all 
dead now. I can’t massacre foreign residents 


MAVE BIMSELF KING. 


81 


if there are no foreign residents, but I can 
commit suicide though, and I’ll do it if 
something don’t happen.” 

There was a long pause, in which the 
silence of the office was only broken by the 
sound of the waves beating on the coral reefs 
outside. Stedman raised his head wearily. 

“He’s swearing again,” he said; “he says 
this stuff of yours is all nonsense. He says 
stock in the Y. C. C. has gone up to one 
hundred and two, and that owners are un- 
loading and making their fortunes, and that 
this sort of descriptive writing is not what 
the company want.” 

“What’s he think I’m here for?” cried 
Gordon. “ Does he think I pulled down the 
German flag and risked my neck half a dozen 
times and had myself made King just to 
boom his Yokohama cable stock? Confound 
him! You might at least swear back. Tell 
him just what the situation is in a few words. 
Here, stop that rigmarole to the paper, and 
explain to your home office that we are await- 
ing developments, and that, in the mean- 
while, they must put up with the best we 
can send them. Wait; send this to Oc- 
tavia. ” 


82 


THE BEPORTER WHO 


Gordon wrote rapidly, and read what he 
wrote as rapidly as it was written. 

“Operator, Octavia. You seem to have 
misunderstood my first message. The facts 
in the case are these. A German man-of-war 
raised a flag on this island. It was pulled 
down and the American flag raised in its 
place and saluted by a brass cannon. The 
German man-of-war fired once at the flag and 
knocked it down, and then steamed away and 
has not been seen since. Two huts were 
upset, that is all the damage done; the bat- 
tery consisted of the one brass cannon before 
mentioned. No one, either native or foreign, 
has been massacred. The English residents 
are two sailors. The American residents are 
the young man who is sending you this cable 
and myself. Our first message was quite 
true in substance, but perhaps misleading in 
detail. I made it so because I fully expected 
much more to happen immediately. Nothing 
has happened, or seems likely to happen, and 
that is the exact situation up to date. Albert 
Gordon.” 

“ Now, ” he asked after a pause, “ what does 
he say to that? ” 

“He doesn’t say an3rthing, ” said Stedman. 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


83 


“I guess he has fainted. Here it comes,” 
he added in the same breath. He bent 
toward his instrument, and Gordon raised 
himself from his chair and stood beside him 
as he read it off. The two young men 
hardly breathed in the intensity of their 
interest. 

“Dear Stedman,” he slowly read aloud. 
“You and your young friend are a couple of 
fools. If you had allowed me to send you 
the messages awaiting transmission here to 
you, you would not have sent me such a con- 
fession of guilt as you have just done. You 
had better leave Opeki at once or hide in the 
hills. I am afraid I have placed you in a 
somewhat compromising position Avith the 
company, which is unfortunate, especially as, 
if I am not mistaken, they owe you some back 
pay. You should have been wiser in your 
day, and bought Y. C. C. stock when it was 
down to five cents, as yours truly did. You 
are not, Stedman, as bright a boy as some. 
And as for your friend, the war correspon- 
dent, he has queered himself for life. You 
see, my dear Stedman, after I had sent off 
your first message, and demands for further 
details came pouring in, and I could not get 


84 


th:e reporter who 


you at the wire to supply them, I took the 
liberty of sending some on myself. ’ ’ 

“ Great Heavens ! ’ ’ gasped Gordon. 

Stedman grew very white under his tan, 
and the perspiration rolled on his cheeks. 

“Your message was so general in its na- 
ture, that it allowed my imagination full 
play, and I sent on what I thought would 
please the papers, and what was much more 
important to me, would advertise the Y. C. C. 
stock. This I have been doing while wait- 
ing for material from you. Not having a 
clear idea of the dimensions or population 
of Opeki, it is possible that I have done you 
and your newspaper friend some injustice. I 
killed off about a hundred American resi- 
dents, two hundred English, because I do 
not like the English, and a hundred French. 
I blew up old Ollypybus and his palace with 
d3niamite, and shelled the city, destroying 
some hundred thousand dollars’ worth of prop- 
erty, and then I waited anxiously for your 
friend to substantiate what I had said. This 
he has most unkindly failed to do. I am very 
sorry, but much more so for him than for my- 
self, for I, my dear friend, have cabled on to 


MADE HIMSELF KING. 


85 


a man in San Francisco, who is one of the 
directors of the Y. C. C., to sell all my stock, 
which he has done at one hundred and two, 
and he is keeping the money until I come. 
And I leave Octavia this afternoon to reap my 
just reward. I am in about |20,000 on your 
little war, and I feel grateful. So much so 
that I will inform you that the ship of war 
Kaiser has arrived at San Francisco, for 
which port she sailed directly from Opeki. 
Her captain has explained the real situation, 
and offered to make every amend for the ac- 
cidental indignity shown to our flag. He 
says he aimed at the cannon, which was 
trained on his vessel, and which had first 
fired on him. But you must know, my dear 
Stedman, that before his arrival, war vessels 
belonging to the several powers mentioned in 
my revised dispatches, had started for Opeki 
at full speed, to revenge the butchery of the 
foreign residents. A word, my dear young 
friend, to the wise is sufficient. I am in- 
debted to you to the extent of |20,000, and 
in return I give you this kindly advice. 
Leave Opeki. If there is no other way, 
swim. But leave Opeki. 


86 


THE REPORTER WHO 


The sun, that night, as it sank below the 
line where the clouds seemed to touch the 
sea, merged them both into a blazing, blood- 
red curtain, and colored the most wonderful 
spectacle that the natives of Opeki had ever 
seen. Six great ships of war, stretching out 
over a league of sea, stood blackly out against 
the red background, rolling and rising, and 
leaping forward, flinging back smoke and 
burning sparks up into the air behind them, 
and throbbing and panting like living creat- 
ures in their race for revenge. From the 
south, came a three-decked vessel, a great 
island of floating steel, with a flag as red as 
the angry sky behind it, snapping in the wind. 
To the south of it plunged two long low-lying 
torpedo boats, flying the French tri-color, and 
still further to the north towered three mag- 
nificent hulls of the White Squadron. Ven- 
geance was written on every curve and line, 
on each straining engine rod, and on each 
polished gun muzzle. 

And in front of these, a clumsy fishing 
boat rose and fell on each passing wave. 
Two sailors sat in the stern, holding the rope 
and tiller, and in the bow, with their backs 
turned forever toward Opeki, stood two young 



to the North towered three magnificent hulls of the White Squadron. 



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MADE HIMSELF KING. 


87 


boys, tbeir faces lit by the glow of the setting 
sun and stirred by the sight of the great en- 
gines of war plunging past them on their 
errand of vengeance. 

“Stedman,” said the elder boy, in an awe- 
struck whisper, and with a wave of his hand, 
“we have not lived in vain.’* 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


The boys living at the Atlantic House, 
and the boys boarding at Chadwick’s, held 
mutual sentiments of something not unlike 
enmity — feelings of hostility from which 
even the older boarders were not altogether 
free. Nor was this unnatural under the cir- 
cumstances. 

When Judge Henry S. Carter and his 
friend Dr. Prescott first discovered Manas- 
quan, such an institution as the Atlantic 
House seemed an impossibility, and land 
improvement companies, Queen Anne cot- 
tages, and hacks to and from the railroad 
station, were out of all calculation. At that 
time “Captain” Chadwick’s farmhouse, 
though not rich in all the modern improve- 
ments of a seaside hotel, rejoiced in a table 
covered three times a day with the good 
things from the farm. The river back of the 
house was full of fish, and the pine woods 
88 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES, 


89 


along its banks were intended by nature ex- 
pressly for the hanging of hammocks. 

The chief amusements were picnics to the 
head of the river (or as near the head as the 
boats could get through the lily-pads), crab- 
bing along the shore, and races on the river 
itself, which, if it was broad, was so absurdly 
shallow that an upset meant nothing more 
serious than a wetting and a temporary loss 
of reputation as a sailor. 

But all this had been spoiled by the advance 
of civilization and the erection of the Atlan- 
tic House. 

The railroad surveyors, with their high-top 
boots and transits, were the first signs of the 
approaching evils. After them came the 
Ozone Land Company, which bought up all 
the sand hills bordering on the ocean, and pro- 
ceeded to stake out a flourishing “ city by the 
sea ” and to erect sign-posts in the marshes to 
show where they would lay out streets named 
after the directors of the Ozone Land Com- 
pany and the Presidents of the United States. 

It was not unnatural, therefore, that the 
Carters, and the Prescotts, and all the judge’s 
clients, and the doctor’s patients, who had 
been coming to Manasquan for many years, 


90 


MIDSUMMEM PIE ATE S. 


and loved it for its simplicity and quiet, 
should feel aggrieved at these great changes. 
And though the young Carters and Prescotts 
endeavored to impede the march of civiliza- 
tion by pulling up the surveyor’s stakes and 
tearing down the Land Company’s sign-posts, 
the inevitable improvements marched steadily 
on. 

I hope all this will show why it was that 
the boys who lived at the Atlantic House — 
and dressed as if they were still in the city, 
and had “hops” every evening — were not 
pleasing to the boys who boarded at Chad- 
wick’s, who never changed their flannel suits 
for anything more formal than their bathing- 
dresses, and spent the summer nights on the 
river. 

This spirit of hostility and its past history 
were explained to the new arrival at Chad- 
wick’s by young Teddy Carter, as the two 
sat under the willow tree watching a game of 
tennis. The new arrival had just expressed 
his surprise at the earnest desire manifest on 
the part of the entire Chadwick establish- 
ment to defeat the Atlantic House people in 
the great race which was to occur on the day 
following. 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


91 


“Well, you see, sir,” said Teddy, “con- 
siderable depends on this race. As it is now, 
we stand about even. The Atlantic House 
beat us playing base-ball, — though they had 
to get the waiters to help them, — and we 
beat them at tennis. Our house is great on 
tennis. Then we had a boat race, and our 
boat won. They claimed it wasn’t a fair 
race, because their best boat was stuck on 
the sand bar, and so we agreed to sail it over 
again. The second time the wind gave out, 
and all the boats had to be poled home. The 
Atlantic House boat was poled in first, and 
her crew claimed the race. Wasn’t it silly 
of them ? Why, Charley Prescott told them, 
if they’d only said it was to be a poling match, 
he’d have entered a mud-scow and left his 
sail-boat at the dock! ” 

“ And so you are going to race again to- 
morrow?” asked the new arrival. 

“Well, it isn’t exactly a race,” explained 
Teddy. “ It’s a game we boys have invented. 
We call it ‘Pirates and Smugglers.’ It’s 
something like tag, only we play it on the 
water, in boats. We divide boats and boys 
up into two sides ; half of them are pirates 
or smugglers, and half of them are revenue 


MIBSUMMEB PIBATES. 


MZ 

officers or man-o’-war’s-men. The ‘Pirate’s 
Lair ’ is at the island, and our dock is 
‘Cuba.’ That’s where the smugglers run 
in for cargoes of cigars and brandy. Mr. 
Moore gives us his empty cigar boxes, and 
Miss Sherrill (the lady who’s down here for 
her health) let us have all the empty Apol- 
linaris bottles. We fill the bottles with 
water colored with crushed blackberries, and 
that answers for brandy. 

“ The revenue officers are stationed at An- 
napolis (that’s the Atlantic House dock), and 
when they see a pirate start from the island, 
or from our dock, they sail after him. If 
they can touch him with the bow of their 
boat, or if one of their men can board him, 
that counts one for the revenue officers ; and 
they take down his sail and the pirate captain 
gives up his tiller as a sign of surrender. 

“ Then they tow him back to Annapolis, 
where they keep him a prisoner until he is 
exchanged. But if the pirate can dodge the 
Custom House boat, and get to the place he 
started for, without being caught, that counts 
one for him.” 

“Very interesting, indeed,” said the new 
arrival; “but suppose the pirate won’t be 
captured or give up his tiller, what then ? ” 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES, 


93 


“Oh, well, in that case,” said Teddy, re- 
flectively, “they’d cut his sheet-rope, or 
splash water on him, or hit him with an oar, 
or something. But he generally gives right 
up. Now to-morrow the Atlantic House 
boys are to be the revenue officers and we are 
to be the pirates. They have been watching 
us as we played the game, all summer, and 
they think they understand it well enough to 
capture our boats without any trouble at 
all.” 

“And what do you think? ” asked the new 
arrival. 

“Well, I can’t say, certainly. They have 
faster boats than ours, but they don’t know 
how to sail them. If we had their boats, or 
if they knew as much about the river as we 
do, it would be easy enough to name the 
winners. But as it is, it’s about even.” 

Every one who owned a boat was on the 
river the following afternoon, and those who 
didn’t own a boat hired or borrowed one — 
with or without the owner’s permission. 

The shore from Chadwick’s to the Atlantic 
House dock was crowded with people. All 
Manasquan seemed to be ranged in line along 


94 


MIDSUMMER PIBATE:s. 


the river’s bank. Crab-men and clam-diggers 
mixed indiscriminately with the summer 
boarders; and the beach-wagons and stages 
from Chadwick’s grazed the wheels of the 
dog-carts and drags from the Atlantic’s liv- 
ery stables. 

It does not take much to overthrow the 
pleasant routine of summer-resort life, and 
the state of temporary excitement existing at 
^ the two houses on the eve of the race was not 
limited to the youthful contestants. 

The proprietor of the Atlantic House had 
already announced an elaborate supper in 
honor of the anticipated victory, and every 
father and mother whose son was to take part 
in the day’s race felt the importance of the 
occasion even more keenly than the son him- 
self. 

“Of course,” said Judge Carter, “it’s only 
a game, and for my part, so long as no one 
is drowned, I don’t really care who wins; 
hut^ if our boys”. (“our boys” meaning all 
three crews) “allow those young whipper- 
snappers from the Atlantic House to win the 
pennant, they deserve to have their boats 
taken from them and exchanged for hoops 
and marbles I ” 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


95 


Which goes to show how serious a matter 
was the success of the Chadwick crews. 

At three o’clock the amateur pirates started 
from the dock to take up their positions at 
the island. Each of the three small cat-boats, 
held two boys ; one at the helm and one in 
charge of the centre-board and sheet-rope. 
Each pirate wore a jersey striped with differ- 
ing colors, and the head of each bore the 
sanguinary red knitted cap, in which all 
genuine pirates are wont to appear. From 
the peaks of the three boats floated black 
flags, bearing the emblematic skull and bones 
of Captain Kidd’s followers. 

As they left the dock the Chadwick’s peo- 
ple cheered wuth delight at their appearance 
and shouted encouragement, while the re- 
maining youngsters fired salutes with a small 
cannon, which added to the uproar as well as 
increased the excitement of the moment by 
its likelihood to explode. 

At the Atlantic House dock, also, the 
excitement was at fever heat. 

Clad in white flannel suits and white duck 
yachting-caps with gilt buttons, the revenue 
officers strolled up and down the pier with an 
air of cool and determined purpose such as 


96 


MIBSUMMEU PIBATES. 


Decatur may have worn as he paced the deck 
of his man-of-war and scanned the horizon 
for Algerine pirates. The stars and stripes 
floated bravely from the peaks of the three 
cat-boats, soon to leap in pursuit of the pirate 
craft which were conspicuously making for 
the starting-point at the island. 

At half-past three the judge’s steam-launch, 
the Grracie^ made for the middle of the river, 
carrying two representatives from both houses 
and a dozen undergraduates from different 
colleges, who had chartered the boat for the 
purpose of following the race and seeing at 
close quarters all that was to be seen. 

They enlivened the occasion by courteously 
and impartially giving the especial yell of 
each college of which there was a represent- 
ative present, whether they knew him or 
not, or whether he happened to be an under- 
graduate, a professor, or an alumnus. Lest 
some one might inadvertently be overlooked, 
they continued to yell throughout the coume 
of the afternoon, giving, in time, the shib- 
boleth of every known institution of learn- 
ing. 

“Which do I think is going to win? ” said 
the veteran boat-builder of Manasquan to 



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MinSUMMEB PIBATES. 


97 


the inquiring group around his boat-house. 
“Well, I wouldn’t like to say. You see, I 
built every one of those boats that sails to- 
day, and every time I make a boat I make it 
better than the last one. Now, the Chad- 
wick boats I built near five years ago, and 
the Atlantic House boats I built last summer, 
and I’ve learned a good deal in five years.” 

“ So you think our side will win ? ” eagerly 
interrupted an Atlantic House boarder. 

“Well, I didn’t say so, did I?” inquired 
the veteran, with crushing slowness of speech. 
“I didn’t say so. For though these boats 
the Chadwick’s boys have is five years old, 
they’re good boats still ; and those boys know 
every trick and turn of ’em — and they know 
every current and sand-bar just as though it 
was marked with a piece of chalk. So if the 
Atlantic folks win, it’ll be because they’ve 
got the best boats; and if the Chadwick 
boys win, they’ll win because they’re better 
sailors.” 

In the fashion of all first-class aquatic con- 
tests, it was fully half an hour after the time 
appointed for the race to begin before the first 
pirate boat left the island. 

The Ripple^ with Judge Carter’s two sons 


98 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


in command, was the leader; and when her 
sail filled and showed above the shore, a 
cheer from the Chadwick’s dock was carried 
to the ears of the pirate crew who sat perched 
on the rail as she started on her first long 
tack. 

In a moment, two of the Atlantic House 
heroes tumbled into the Osprey, a dozen 
over-hasty hands had cast off her painter, 
had shoved her head into the stream, and the 
great race was begun. 

The wind was down the river, or toward 
the island, so that while the Osprey was sail- 
ing before the wind, the Ripple had her sail 
close-hauled and was tacking. 

“They’re after us! ” said Charley Carter, 
excitedly. “It’s the Osprey; but I can’t 
make out who’s handling her. From the 
way they are pointing, I think they expect 
to reach us on this tack as we go about.” 

The crew of the Osprey evidently thought 
so too, for her bow was pointed at a spot on 
the shore, near which the Ripple must turn 
if she continued much longer on the same 
tack. 

“Do you see that?” gasped Charley, who 
was acting as lookout. “ They’re letting her 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


99 


drift in the wind so as not to get there before 
us. I tell you what it is, Gus, they know 
what they’re doing, and I think we’d better 
go about now. ’ ’ 

“Do you?” inquired the younger brother, 
who had a lofty contempt for the other’s judg- 
ment as a sailor. “Well, I don’t. My 
plan is simply this: I am going to run as 
near the shore as I can, then go about sharp, 
and let them drift by us by a boat’s length. 
A boat’s length is as good as a mile, and 
then, when we are both heading the same 
way, I would like to see them touch us! ” 

“What’s the use of taking such risks?” 
demanded the elder brother. “ I tell you, we 
can’t afford to let them get so near as that.” 

“ At the same time,” replied the man at the 
helm, “ that is what we are going to do. I 
am commanding this boat, please to remem- 
ber, and if I take the risks I am willing to 
take the blame.” 

“You’ll be doing well, if you get off with 
nothing but blame,” growled the elder 
brother. “If you let those kids catch us. 
I’ll throw you overboard! ” 

“I’ll put you in irons for threatening a 
superior officer if you don’t keep quiet,” 


100 


MIBBUMMEE PIEATE8, 


answered the younger Carter, with a grin, and 
the mutiny ended. 

It certainly would have been great sport 
to have run almost into the arms of the rev- 
enue officers, and then to have turned and 
led them a race to the goal, but the humor of 
young Carter’s plan was not so apparent to 
the anxious throng of sympathizers on Chad- 
wick’s dock. 

“ What’s the matter with the boys ? Why 
don’t they go about?” asked Captain Chad- 
wick, excitedly. “One would think they 
were trying to be caught.” 

As he spoke, the sail of the Ripple flut- 
tered in the wind, her head went about 
sharply, and, as her crew scrambled up on 
the windward rail, she bent and bowed 
gracefully on the homeward tack. 

But, before the boat was fully under way, 
the Osprey came down upon her with a rush. 
The Carters hauled in the sail until their 
sheet lay almost flat with the surface of the 
river, the water came pouring over the lee- 
ward rail, and the boys threw their bodies far 
over the other side, in an effort to right her. 
The next instant there was a crash, the de- 
spised boat of the Atlantic House struck her 


MIBSUMMEB PIRATES, 


101 


fairly in the side, and one of the Atlantio 
House crew had hoarded the Ripple with a 
painter in one hand and his hat in the other. 

Whether it was the shock of the collision, 
or disgust at having been captured, no one 
could tell; but when the Osprey^ s bow struck 
the Ripple,, the younger Carter calmly let 
himself go over backward and remained in 
the mud with the water up to his chin and 
without making an effort to help himself, 
until the judge’s boat picked him up and 
carried him, an ignominious prisoner-of-war, 
to the Atlantic House dock. 

The disgust over the catastrophe to the 
pirate crew was manifested on the part of the 
Chadwick sympathizers by gloomy silence or 
loudly expressed indignation. On the whole, 
it was perhaps just as well that the two Car- 
ters, as prisoners-of-war, were forced to remain 
at the Atlantic House dock, for their recep- 
tion at home would not have been a gracious 
one. 

Their captors, on the other hand, were re- 
ceived with all the honor due triumphant 
heroes, and were trotted off the pier on the 
shoulders of their cheering admirers; while 
the girls in the carriages waved their parasols 


102 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


and handkerchiefs and the colored waiters on 
the banks danced up and down and shouted 
like so many human calliopes. 

The victories of John Paul Jones and the 
rescue of Lieutenant Greely became aquatic 
events of little importance in comparison. 
Everybody was so encouraged at this first 
success, that Atlantic House stock rose fifty 
points in as many seconds, and the next crew 
to sally forth from that favored party felt that 
the second and decisive victory was already 
theirs. 

Again the black fiag appeared around the 
bank of the island, and on the instant a sec- 
ond picked crew of the Atlantic House was 
in pursuit. But the boys who commanded 
the pirate craft had no intention of taking or 
giving any chances. They put their boat 
about, long before the revenue officers ex- 
pected them to do so, and forced their adver- 
saries to go so directly before the wind that 
their boat rocked violently. It was not long 
before the boats drew nearer together, again, 
as if they must certainly meet at a point not 
more than a hundred yards from the Atlantic 
House pier, where the excitement had passed 
the noisy point and had reached that of titil- 
lating silence. 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES, 


103 


Go about sharp ! ” snapped out the captain 
of the pirate boat, pushing his tiller from him 
and throwing his weight upon it. His first 
officer pulled the sail close over the deck, the 
wind caught it fairly, and almost before the 
spectators were aware of it, the pirate boat 
had gone about and was speeding away on 
another tack. The revenue officers were not 
prepared for this. They naturally thought 
the pirates would run as close to the shore as 
they possibly could before they tacked, and 
were aiming for the point at which they cal- 
culated their opponents would go about, just 
as did the officers in the first race. 

Seeing this, and not wishing to sail too 
close to them, the pirates had gone about 
much farther from the shore than was needful. 
In order to follow them the revenue officers 
were now forced to come about and tack, 
which, going before the wind as they were, 
they found less easy. The sudden change in 
their opponents’ tactics puzzled them, and one 
of the two boys bungled. On future occa- 
sions each confidentially informed his friends 
that it was the other who was responsible; 
but, howevei* that may have been, the boat 
missed stays, her sail flapped weakly in 


104 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES, 


the breeze, and, while the crew were vigor- 
ously trying to set her in the wind by lash- 
ing the water with her rudder, the pirate boat 
was off and away, one hundred yards to the 
good, and the remainder of the race was a 
procession of two boats with the pirates easily 
in the lead. 

And now came the final struggle. Now 
came the momentous “rubber,” which was 
to plunge Chadwick’s into gloom, or keep 
them still the champions of the river. The 
appetites of both were whetted for victory by 
the single triumph each had already won, and 
their representatives felt that, for them, suc- 
cess or a watery grave were the alternatives. 

The Atlantic House boat, the Wave^ and 
the boat upon which the Chadwick’s hopes 
were set, the Rover^ were evenly matched, 
their crews were composed of equally good 
sailors, and each was determined to tow the 
other ignominiously into port. 

The two Prescotts watched the Wave crit- 
ically and admiringly, as she came toward 
them with her crew perched on her side and 
the water showing white under her bow. 

“ They’re coming entirely too fast to suit 
m«,” said the elder Prescott. “I want more 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


105 


room, and I have a plan to get it. Stand 
ready to go about.” The younger brother 
stood ready to go about, keeping the Rover 
on her first tack until she was clear of the 
island’s high banks and had the full sweep of 
the wind; then, to the surprise of her pur- 
suers and the bewilderment of the spectators, 
she went smartly about, and turning her bow 
directly away from the goal, started before 
the wind back past the island and toward 
the wide stretch of river on the upper side. 

“What’s your man doing that for?” ex- 
citedly asked one of the Atlantic House peo- 
ple, of the prisoners-of-war. 

“I don’t know, certainly,” one of the Car- 
ters answered ; “ but I suppose he thinks his 
boat can go faster before the wind than the 
Wave can, and he is counting on getting a 
long lead on her before he turns to go back. 
There is much more room up there, and the 
opportunities for dodging are about twice as 
good.” 

“Why didn’t we think of that, Gus?” 
whispered the other Carter. 

“We were too anxious to show what smart 
sailors we were, to think of anything!” an- 
swered his brother, ruefully. 


106 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES, 


Beyond the island the Rover gained rapidly; 
but as soon as she turned and began beating 
homeward, the Wave showed that tacking 
was her strong point and began, in turn, to 
make up all the advantage the Rover had 
gained. 

The Rover's pirate-king cast a troubled eye 
at the distant goal and at the slowly but 
steadily advancing Wave. 

His younger brother noticed the look. 

“If one could only do something,” he ex- 
claimed, impatiently. “ That’s the worst of 
sailing races. In a rowing race you can pull 
till you break your back, if you want to; 
but here you must just sit still and watch 
the other fellow creep up, inch by inch, with- 
out doing anything to help yourself. If I 
could only get out and push, or pole ! It’s 
this trying to keep still that drives me crazy. ’ * 
“I think we’d better go about now,” said 
the commander, quietly, “and instead of 
going about again when we are off the bar, 
I intend to try to cross it. ” 

“What I” gasped the younger Prescott, 
“go across the bar at low water? You can’t 
do it. We’ll stick sure. Don’t try it. 
Don’t think of it! ” 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


107 


“It is rather a forlorn hope, I know,’’ said 
his brother; “but you can see, yourself, 
they’re bound to overhaul us if we keep on 
— we don’t draw as much water as they do, 
and if they try to follow us we’ll leave them 
high and dry on the bar. ’ ’ 

The island stood in the centre of the river, 
separated from the shore on one side by the 
channel, through which both boats had 
already passed, and on the other by a nar- 
row stretch of water which barely covered 
the bar the Rover purposed to cross. 

When: she pointed for it, the Wave promptly 
gave up chasing her, and made for the channel 
with the intention of heading her off on the 
other side of the island in the event of her 
crossing the bar. 

“She’s turned back!” exclaimed the cap- 
tain of the Rover, “Now if we can only 
clear it, we’ll have a beautiful start on her. 
Sit perfectly still, and if you hear her cen- 
tre-board scrape, pull it up, and trim her to 
keep her keel level.” 

Slowly the Rover drifted toward the bar; 
once her centre-board touched, and as the 
boat moved further into the shallow water the 
waves rose higher in proportion at the stern. 


108 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


But her keel did not touch, and as soon as 
the dark water showed again, her crew gave 
an exultant shout and pointed her bow toward 
the Chadwick dock, whence a welcoming cheer 
came faintly over the mile of water. 

“I’ll bet they didn’t cheer much when we 
were crossing the bar!” said the younger 
brother, with a grim chuckle. “I’ll bet they 
thought we were mighty foolish.” 

“We couldn’t have done anything else,” 
returned the superior officer. “ It was risky, 
though. If we’d moved an inch she would 
have grounded, sure.” 

“I was scared so stiff that I couldn’t have 
moved if I’d tried to,” testified the younger 
sailor, with cheerful frankness. 

Meanwhile the wind had freshened, and 
white caps began to show over the roughened 
surface of the river, while sharp, ugly flaws 
struck the sails of the two contesting boats 
from all directions, making them bow before 
the sudden gusts of wind until the water 
poured over the sides. 

But the sharpness of the wind made the 
racing only more exciting, and such a series 
of manoeuvres as followed, and such a naval 
battle, was never before seen on the Manas- 
quan River. 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


109 


The boys handled their boats like veterans, 
and the boats answered every movement of 
the rudders and shortening of the sails as a 
thoroughbred horse obeys its bridle. They 
ducked and dodged, turned and followed in 
pursuit, now going free before the wind, now 
racing, close-hauled, into the teeth of it. 
Several times a capture seemed inevitable, 
but a quick turn of the tiller would send the 
pirates out of danger. And, as many times, 
the pirate crew almost succeeded in crossing 
the line, but before they could reach it the 
revenue cutter would sweep down upon them 
and frighten them away again. 

“We can’t keep this up much longer,” said 
the elder Prescott. “ There’s more water in 
the boat now than is safe ; and every time we 
go about, we ship three or four bucketfuls 
more.” 

As he spoke, a heavy flaw keeled the boat 
over again, and, before her crew could right 
her, the water came pouring over the side 
with the steadiness of a small waterfall. 
“That settles it for us,” exclaimed Prescott, 
grimly; “we must pass the line on this tack, 
or we sink.” 

“They’re as badly off as we are,” returned 


110 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


his brother. “ See how she’s wobbling — but 
she’s gaining on us, just the same, ” he added. 

“Keep her to it, then,” said the man at 
the helm. “ Hold on to that sheet, no mat- 
ter how much water she ships.” 

“If I don’t let it out a little, she’ll sink! ” 

“Let her sink, then,” growled the chief 
officer. “I’d rather upset than be caught.” 

The people on the shore and on the judges’ 
boat appreciated the situation fully as well 
as the racers. They had seen, for some time, 
how slowly the boats responded to their rud- 
ders and how deeply they were sunk in the 
water. 

All the manoeuvring for the past ten 
minutes had been off the Chadwick dock, 
and the Atlantic House people, in order to 
get a better view of the finish, were racing 
along the bank on foot and in carriages, 
cheering their champions as they came. 

The Rover was pointed to cross an imagi- 
nary line between the judges’ steam-launch 
and Chadwick’s dock. Behind her, not three 
boat-lengths in the rear, so close that her 
wash impeded their headway, came the reve- 
nue officers, their white caps gone, their hair 
flying in the wind, and every muscle strained. 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


Ill 


Both crews were hanging far over the sides 
of the boats, while each wave washed the 
water into the already half -filled cockpits. 

“Look out!*’ shouted the younger Pres- 
cott, “here comes another flaw!” 

“Don’t let that sail out!” shouted back 
his brother, and as the full force of the flaw 
struck her, the boat’s rail buried itself in the 
water and her sail swept along the surface of 
the river. 

For an instant it looked as if the boat was 
swamped, but as the force of the flaw passed 
over her, she slowly righted again, and with 
her sail dripping and heavy, and rolling like 
a log, she plunged forward on her way to the 
goal. 

When the flaw struck the Wave., her crew 
let their sheet go free, saving themselves 
the inundation of water which had almost 
swamped the Rover., but losing the headway, 
which the Rover had kept. 

Before the Wave regained it, the pirate 
craft had increased her lead, though it was 
only for a moment. 

“We can’t make it,” shouted the younger 
Prescott, turning his face toward his brother 
so that the wind might not drown his voice. 


112 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


“They’re almost upon us, and we’re settling 
fast.” 

“So are they,” shouted his brother. “We 
can’t be far from the line now, and as soon 
as we cross that, it doesn’t matter what hap- 
pens to us I” 

As he spoke another heavy gust of wind 
came sweeping toward them, turning the 
surface of the river dark blue as it passed 
over, and flattening out the waves. 

“Look at that! ” groaned the pirate-king, 
“we’re gone now, surely!” But before the 
flaw reached them, and almost before the 
prophetic words were uttered, the cannon on 
the judges’ boat banged forth merrily, and 
the crowds on the Chadwick dock answered 
its signal with an unearthly yell of triumph. 

“We’re across, we’re across! ” shouted the 
younger Prescott, jumping up to his knees 
in the water in the bottom of the boat and 
letting the wet sheet-rope run freely through 
his blistered fingers. 

But the movement was an unfortunate one. 

The flaw struck the boat with her heavy 
sail dragging in the water, and with young 
Prescott’s weight removed from the rail. 
She reeled under the gust as a tree bows in 



As the two Prescotts scrambled up on the gunwale of their boat, the defeated crew saluted them with cheers. 






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MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


113 


a storm, bent gracefully before it, and then 
turned over slowly on her side. 

The next instant the Wave swept by her, 
and as the two Prescotts scrambled up on 
the gunwale of their boat, the defeated crew 
saluted them with cheers, in response to 
which the victors bowed as gracefully as 
their uncertain position would permit. 

The new arrival, who had come to Manas- 
quan in the hope of finding something to 
shoot, stood among the people on the bank 
and discharged his gun until the barrels were 
so hot that he had to lay the gun down to 
cool. And every other man and boy who 
owned a gun or pistol of any sort, fired it off 
and yelled at the same time, as if the contents 
of the gun or pistol had entered his own body. 
Unfortunately, every boat possessed a tin 
horn with which the helmsman was wont to 
signal the keeper of the drawbridge. One 
evil-minded captain blew a blast of triumph 
on his horn, and in a minute’s time the air 
was rent with tootings as vicious as those 
of the steam whistle of a locomotive. 

The Wave just succeeded in reaching the 
dock before she settled and sank. A dozen 
of Chadwick’s boarders seized the crew by 


114 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


their coat collars and arms, as they leaped 
from the sinking boat to the pier, and assisted 
them to their feet, forgetful in the excite- 
ment of the moment that the sailors were 
already as wet as sponges on their native 
rocks. 

“ I suppose I should have stuck to my ship 
as Prescott did,” said the captain of the 
Wave with a smile, pointing to where the 
judges’ boat was towing in the Rover with 
her crew still clinging to her side; “but I’d 
already thrown you my rope, you know, and 
there really isn’t anything heroic in sticking 
to a sinking ship when she goes down in two 
feet of water.” 

As soon as the Prescotts reached the pier, 
they pushed their way to their late rivals and 
shook them heartily by their hands. Then 
the Atlantic House people carried their crew 
around on their shoulders, and the two Chad- 
wick’s crews were honored in the same em- 
barrassing manner. The proprietor of the 
Atlantic House invited the entire Chadwick 
establishment over to a dance and a late sup- 
per. 

“I prepared it for the victors,” he said, 
“and though these victors don’t happen to 


MIDSUMMER PIRATES. 


116 


be the ones I prepared it for, the victors must 
eat it.” 

The sun had gone down for over half an 
hour before the boats and carriages had left 
the Chadwick dock, and the Chadwick people 
had an opportunity to rush home to dress. 
They put on their very best clothes, “ just to 
show the Atlantic people that they had some- 
thing else besides flannels,” and danced in 
the big hall of the Atlantic House until late 
in the evening. 

When the supper was served, the victors 
were toasted and cheered and presented with 
a beautiful set of colors, and then Judge 
Carter made a stirring speech. 

He went over the history of the rival houses 
in a way that pleased everybody, and made 
all the people at the table feel ashamed of 
themselves for ever having been rivals at all. 

He pointed out in courtly phrases how ex- 
cellent and varied were the modern features 
of the Atlantic House, and yet how healthful 
and satisfying was the old-fashioned simplic- 
ity of Chadwick’s. He expressed the hope 
that the two houses would learn to appreciate 
each other’s virtues, and hoped that in the 
future they would see more of each other. 


116 


MIBSVMMEB PIRATES. 


To whicli sentiment everybody assented 
most noisily and enthusiastically, and the 
proprietor of the Atlantic House said that, 
in his opinion. Judge Carter’s speech was 
one of the finest he had ever listened to, and 
he considered that part of it which touched 
on the excellent attractions of the Atlantic 
House as simply sublime, and that, with his 
Honor’s permission, he intended to use it in 
his advertisements and circulars, with Judge 
Carter’s name attached. 


EICHAKD CAEE’S BABY. 


A FEW years ago, all the boys living in 
the town of Princeton who were at that age 
when it is easy to remember the fall, winter, 
spring, and summer as the foot-ball, coast- 
ing, swimming, and base-ball seasons, re- 
garded Richard Carr as embodying their 
ideal of human greatness. 

When they read in the history primers how 
George Washington became the Father of his 
Country, they felt sure that with a like oppor- 
tunity Richard Carr would come to the front 
and be the stepfather of his country at least. 

They lay in wait for him at the post-office, 
and as soon as he came in sight, would ask 
for his mail and run to give it to him ; they 
would go ahead of him on the other side of 
the street, and cross over and meet him with a 
very important “ How do you do, Mr. Carr ? ’ ^ 
and were quite satisfied if he gave them an 
amused “Hello I ” in return. 


117 


118 


RICH ABB CARR'S BABY, 


They hung photographs of him and the 
woodcuts from the daily papers around their 
rooms, and their efforts to imitate his straight, 
military walk, with shoulders squared and 
head erect, were of great benefit to their 
lungs and personal appearance. 

Those ragged hangers-on of the college, 
too, who picked up odd dimes from the 
students, by carrying baggage and chasing 
tennis balls, waited on Richard Carr, and 
shouted “Hurrah for you, Carr!” whenever 
that worthy walked by. 

Those who have not already guessed the 
position which Richard Carr held in the col- 
lege will be surprised to learn that he was 
captain of the college foot-ball team, and 
those who cannot understand the admiration 
that Arthur Waller, and Willie Beck, and 
the rest of the small fry of Princeton felt for 
this young man would better stop here — for 
neither will they understand this story. 

Among all these young hero- worshippers, 
Richard Carr’s most devoted follower was 
Arthur Waller — for, while the other boys, 
looking upon Carr as their ideal, hoped in 
time that they might themselves be even as 
great as he, Arthur felt that to him, this 


RICHARD CARRES BABY, 


119 


glorious possibility must be denied. Arthur 
was neither strong nor sturdy, and could, he 
knew, never hope to be like the captain of 
the foot-ball team, whose strength and phy- 
sique seemed, for this reason, all the grande^, 
to him. 

He never ran after Carr, nor tried to draw 
his attention as the others did; he was con- 
tent to watch and form his own ideas about 
his hero from a distance. Richard Carr was 
more than the captain of the team to him. 
He was the one person who, above all others, 
had that which Arthur lacked — strength; 
and so Arthur did not merely envy him, — he 
worshipped him. 

Although Arthur Waller was somewhat 
older in his way of thinking than his friends, 
he enjoyed the same games they enjoyed, and 
would have liked to play them, if he had 
been able; but, as he was not, the boys 
usually asked him to keep the score, or to 
referee the matches they played on the cow 
pasture with one of the college’s cast-off 
foot-balls. On the whole, the boys were 
very good to Arthur. 

It was the first part of the last half of the 
Yale-Princeton foot-ball match, played on the 


120 


BICHAUB C ABB'S BABY. 


Princeton grounds. The modest grand stand 
was filled with young ladies and college boys, 
while all the townspeople covered the fences 
and carriages, and crowded closely on the 
whitewashed lines, cheering and howling at 
the twenty-two very dirty, very determined, 
and very cool young men who ran, rushed, 
dodged, and “tackled” in the open space 
before them, — the most interested and least 
excited individuals on the grounds. 

Arthur Waller had crept between the spec- 
tators until he had reached the very front of 
the crowd, and had stood through the first 
half of the game with bated breath, his fin- 
ger-nails pressed into his palms, and his eyes 
following only one of the players. He was 
entirely too much excited to shout or call as 
the others did ; and he was perfectly silent 
except for the little gasps of fear he gave 
involuntarily when Richard Carr struck the 
ground with more than the usual number of 
men on top of him. 

Suddenly, Mr. Hobbes, of Yale, kicked the 
ball, but kicked it sideways ; and so, instead 
of going straight down the field, it turned 
and whirled over the heads of the crowd 
and settled among the carriages. A panting 


RICHARD CARR'S BABY. 


121 


little Yale man tore wildly after it, beseech- 
ing Mr. Hobbes, in agonizing tones, to put 
him “on side.” Mr. Hobbes ran past the 
spot where the ball would strike, and the 
Yale man dashed after it through the crowd. 
Behind him, his hair flying, his eyes fixed on 
the ball over his head, every muscle on a strain, 
came Richard Carr. He went at the people 
blindly, and they tumbled over one another 
like a flock of sheep, in their efforts to clear 
the way for him. With his head in the air, he 
did not see Arthur striving to get out of his 
way ; he only heard a faint cry of pain when 
he stumbled for an instant, and, looking 
back, saw the crowd closing around a little 
boy who was lying very still and white, but 
who was not crying. Richard Carr stopped 
as he ran back, and setting Arthur on his 
feet, asked, “Are you hurt, youngster?” 
But, as Arthur only stared at him and said 
nothing, the champion hurried on again into 
the midst of the fray. 

“ There is one thing we must have before 
the next match,” said the manager of the 
team, as the players were gathered in the 
dressing-rooms after the game, “and that is 


122 


BICHARD CARR'S BABY. 


a rope to keep the people back. They wiU 
crowd on the field, and get in the way of the 
half-backs, and, besides, it is not safe for 
them to stand so near. Carr knocked over a 
little boy this afternoon, and hurt him quite 
badly, I believe.*’ 

“What’s that?” said Richard Carr, turn- 
ing from the group of substitutes who were 
explaining how they would have played the 
game and tendering congratulations. 

“I was saying,” continued the manager, 
“ that we ought to have a rope to keep the 
people off the field; they interfere with the 
game; and they say that you hurt a little 
fellow when you ran into the crowd during 
the last half.” 

“ Those boys shouldn’t be allowed to stand 
in front there,” said Richard Carr; “but I 
didn’t know I hurt him. Who was he ? where 
does he live ? Do you know ? ” 

“It was the widow Waller’s son, sir,” 
volunteered Sam, the colored attendant. 
“ That’s her house with the trees around it ; 
you can see the roof from here. I think 
that’s where they took him.” 

“Took him!” exclaimed Richard Carr, 
catching up his great-coat. “Was he so 


mCHARB CABU^S BABY. 


12S 


badly hurt? You wait until I come back, 
Sam.” 

A pale, gentle-faced woman, who looked 
as if she had been crying, came to the door 
when Richard Carr rang the bell of the cot- 
tage which had been pointed out to him from 
the athletic grounds. When she saw his 
foot-ball costume, the look of welcome on 
her face died out very suddenly. 

“Does the little boy live here who was 
hurt on the athletic grounds ? ” asked Richard 
Carr, wondering if it could have been the doc- 
tor she was expecting. 

“Yes, sir,” answered the lady, coldly. 

“ I came to see how he was ; I am the man 
who ran against him. I wish to explain to 
you how it happened — I suppose you are 
Mrs. Waller?” (Richard Carr hesitated, 
and bowed, but the lady only bowed her head 
in return, and said nothing.) “It was ac- 
cidental, of course,” continued Carr. “He 
was in the crowd when I ran in after the 
ball ; it was flying over our heads, and I was 
looking up at it and didn’t see him. I hope 
he is all right now.” Before the lady could 
answer, Richard Carr’s eyes wandered from 
her face and caught sight of a little figure 


124 


RICHARD CARR'S BABY, 


lying on a sofa in the wide hall. Stepping 
across the floor as lightly as he could in his 
heavy shoes, Carr sat down beside Arthur on 
the sofa. “Well, old man,” he said, taking 
Arthur’s hands in his, “I hope I didn’t hurt 
you much. No bones broken, — are there? 
You were very plucky not to cry. It was a 
very hard fall, and I’m very, very sorry; but 
I didn’t see you, you know.” 

“Oh, no, sir,” said Arthur, quickly, with 
his eyes fixed on Richard Carr’s face. “I 
knew you didn’t see me, and I thought maybe 
you would come when you heard I was hurt. 
I don’t mind it a bit, from you. Because 
Willie Beck says — he is the captain of our 
team, you know — that you wouldn’t hurt any 
one if you could help it; he says you never 
hit a man on the field unless he’s playing 
foul or trying to hurt some of your team.” 

Richard Carr doubted whether this recital 
of his virtues would appeal as strongly to 
Mrs. Waller as it did to Arthur, so he said, 
“And who is Willie Beck?” 

“Willie Beck! Why, don’t you know 
Willie Beck?” exclaimed Arthur, who was 
rapidly losing his awe of Richard Carr. “ He 
says he knows you; he is the boy who 


BICBARB CABIt'S BABY. 


125 


holds your coat for you during the practice 
games.’’ 

Richard Carr saw he was running a risk of 
hurting some young admirer’s feelings, so 
he said, “Oh, yes, the boy who holds my 
coat for me. And he is the captain of your 
team, is he? Well, the next time you play, 
you wear this cap and tell Willie Beck and 
the rest of the boys that I gave it to you 
because you were so plucky when I knocked 
you down.” 

With these words he pressed his orange 
and black cap into Arthur’s hand and rose to 
go, but Arthur looked so wistfully at him, 
and then at the captain’s cap, that he stopped. 

“I’d like to wear it, Mr. Carr,” he said 
slowly. “I’d like to, ever so much. Mam- 
ma,” he added, turning his eyes to where 
Mrs. Waller stood looking out at the twi- 
light and weeping softly, — “ but you see, 
sir, I don’t play myself. I generally referee. 
I’m not very strong, sir, not at present ; but 
I will be some da}, — won’t I, Mamma? 
And the doctor says I must keep quiet until 
I am older, and not play games that are 
rough. For he says if I got a shock or a fall 
I might not get over it, or it might put me 


126 


BICHABB CARR'S BABY, 


back — and I do so want to get well just 
as soon as I can. You see, sir, it’s my 
spine ” 

Richard Carr gave a sharp gasp of pain 
and dropped on his knees beside the sofa, 
and buried his face beside the boy’s on the 
pillow, with his arms thrown tightly around 
his shoulder. 

For a moment Arthur looked at him startled 
and distressed, and patted Richard Carr’s 
broad back to comfort him; and then he 
cried : 

“ Oh, but I didn’t mean to blame you, Mr. 
Carr! I know you didn’t see me. Don’t 
you worry about me, Mr. Carr. I’m going 
to get well some day. Indeed I am, sir! ” 

Whether it was that the surgeon whom 
Richard Carr’s father sent on from New 
York knew more about Arthur’s trouble than 
the other doctors did, or whether it was that 
Richard Carr saw that Arthur had many 
medicines, pleasant and unpleasant, which 
his mother had been unable to get for him, 
I do not know, — but I do know that Arthur 
got better day by day. 

And day after day, Richard Carr stopped 


mCHARD CARIt'S BABY. 


127 


on his way to the field, and on his way back 
again, to see his “Baby,’’ as he called him, 
and to answer the numerous questions put to 
him by Arthur’s companions. They always 
assembled at the hour of Richard Carr’s ar- 
rival in order to share some of the glory that 
had fallen on their comrade, and to cherish 
and carry away whatever precious thoughts 
Richard Carr might let drop concerning foot- 
ball, or the weather, or any other vital topic 
on which his opinion was decisive. 

As soon as the doctor said Arthur could 
be moved, Richard Carr used to stop for him 
in a two-seated carriage and drive him in 
state to the foot-ball field. And after he had 
drawn up the carriage where Arthur could 
get a good view of the game, he would hand 
over the reins to one of those vulture-like 
individuals who hover around the field of 
battle, waiting for some one to be hurt, and 
who are known as “substitutes.” In his 
orange and black uniform, one of these 
fellows made a very gorgeous coachman in- 
deed. 

And though the students might yell, and 
the townspeople shout ever so loudly, Richard 
Carr only heard one shrill little voice, which 


128 


RICHARD CARRES BABY. 


called to him above all the others; and as 
that voice got stronger day by day, Richard 
Carr got back his old spirit and interest in 
the game, which, since the Yale match, he 
seemed to have lost. 

The team said Richard Carr’s “Baby” 
brought them luck, and they called him their 
“Mascot,” and presented him with a flag of 
the college colors; and when the weather 
grew colder they used to smother him in 
their white woollen jerseys, so that he looked 
like a fat polar bear. 

It was a very pretty sight, indeed, to see 
how Richard Carr and the rest of the team, 
whenever they had scored or had made a good 
play, would turn first for their commendation 
to where Arthur sat perched above the crowd, 
waving his flag, his cheeks all aglow, and 
the substitute’s arm around him to keep him 
from falling over in his excitement. And 
the other teams who came to play at Prince- 
ton soon learned about the captain’s “ Baby,” 
and inquired if he were on the field ; and if 
he was, they would go up and gravely shake 
hands with him, as with some celebrated in- 
dividual holding a public reception. 

Richard Carr is out West now at the head 


EICHARD CARETS BABY. 


129 


of a great sheep ranch, and Arthur Wallei 
enters Princeton next year. I do not know 
whether he will be on the team, though he is 
strong enough j but I am sure he will help 
to hand down* the fame of Richard Carr, and 
that he will do it in such a way that his 
hero will be remembered as the possessor of 
certain qualities, perhaps not so highly 
prized, but almost as excellent, as were those 
which fitted him to be captain of the team. 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS 
TOURNAMENT. 


Charles Coleridge Grace, as he was 
called by the sporting editors, or Charley 
Grace, as he was known about college, had 
held the tennis championship of his Alma 
Mater ever since he had been a freshman. 

Even before that eventful year he had car- 
ried off so many silver cups and highly orna- 
mented racquets at the different tournaments 
all over the country, that his entering college 
was quite as important an event to the col- 
lege as it was to Charles. 

His career was not marked by the winning 
of any scholarships, nor by any brazen prom- 
inence in the way of first honors ; and though 
the president may have wondered at the fre- 
quency of his applications to attend funerals, 
marriages, and the family dentist, he was al- 
ways careful to look the other way when he 
met him hurrying to the station with three 
130 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 131 

racquets in one hand and a travelling bag in 
the other. 

Nor was he greatly surprised to read in the 
next morning’s paper that “ this brought the 
winner of the last set and Charles Coleridge 
Grace together in the finals, which were won 
by Mr. Grace, 6-4, 6-4, 6-2.” 

It was near the end of the first term in 
Grace’s junior year, and at the time when 
the dates of tournaments and examinations 
were hopelessly clashing, that he received 
another of many invitations to attend an open 
tournament. This particular circular an- 
nounced that the N. L. T. A. of the United 
States had given the Hilltown Tennis Club 
permission to hold on their own grounds a 
tournament for the championship of the 
State. 

Mr. Grace was cordially invited to parti- 
cipate, not only through the formal wording 
of the circular, but in a note of somewhat 
extravagant courtesy signed by the club’s 
secretary. 

Hilltown is a very pretty place, and some 
of its people are very wealthy. They see that 
it has good roads for their village-carts and 
landaus to roll over, and their Queen Anne 


132 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


cottages are distinctly ornamental to the sur- 
rounding landscape. 

They have also laid out and inclosed eight 
tennis-courts of both clay and turf, to suit 
every one’s taste, and have erected a club- 
house which is apparently fashioned after no 
one’s. Every year Hilltown invited the 
neighboring tennis-clubs of Malvern and 
Pineville to compete with them in an inter- 
club tournament, and offered handsome prizes 
which were invariably won by representatives 
of Hilltown. 

But this year, owing chiefly to the ener- 
gies of Mr. C. Percy Clay, the club’s enthu- 
siastic secretary, Hilltown had been allowed 
to hold a tournament on its own tennis-ground 
for the double and single championship of the 
State. This honor necessitated the postpone- 
ment of the annual tri-club meeting until ten 
days after the championship games had been 
played. 

The team who did the playing for the Hill- 
town club were two young men locally known 
as the Slade brothers. 

They were not popular, owing to their 
assuming an air of superiority over every one 
in the town, from their father down to C. 


TENJSflS TOURNAMENT. 


133 


Percy Clay. But as they had won every prize 
of which the tennis-club could boast, they of 
necessity enjoyed a prominence which their 
personal conduct alone could not have gained 
for them. 

Charles Grace arrived at Hilltown one 
Wednesday morning. All but the final 
game of the doubles had been played off on 
the two days previous, and the singles were 
to be begun and completed that afternoon. 
The grounds were well filled when he reached 
them, and looked as pretty as only pretty 
tennis-grounds can look when they are gay 
with well-dressed girls, wonderfully bright 
blazers, and marquees of vividly brilliant 
stripes. 

Grace found the list of entries to the singles 
posted up in the club-house, and discovered 
that they were few in number, and that there 
was among them only one name that was 
familiar to him. 

As he turned away from the list, two very 
young and bright-faced boys, in very well- 
worn flannels, came up the steps of the club- 
house just as one of the Slades was leaving 
it. 

“Hullo,” said Slade, “you back again?” 


134 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


It was such an unusual and impertinent 
welcome that Grace paused in some surprise 
and turned to listen. 

The eldest of the boys laughed good- 
naturedly and said: “Yes, we’re here, Mr. 
Slade. You know we drew a bye, and so we 
play in the finals.” 

“Well, of course you’ll play my brother 
and myself then. I hope the novelty of 
playing in the last round won’t paralyze you. 
If it doesn’t, we will,” he added with a short 
laugh. “I say, Ed,” he continued, turning 
to his elder brother, “here are Merton and 
his partner come all the way from Malvern 
to play in the finals. They might have saved 
their car-fare, don’t you think?” 

The elder brother scowled at the unfortu- 
nate representatives of Malvern. 

“You don’t really mean to make us stand 
out here in the hot sun fooling with you, do 
you?” he asked impatiently. “You’ll only 
make a spectacle of yourselves. Why don’t 
you drop out? We’ve beaten you often 
enough before, I should think, to suit you, 
and we want to begin the singles.” 

But the Malvern youths were not to be 
browbeaten. They said they knew they 


TENNIS TOUMNAMENT. 


135 


would be defeated, but that the people at Mal- 
vern were very anxious to have them play, 
and had insisted on their coming up. “ They 
wish to see what sort of a chance we have for 
the tri-club tournament, next week,” they 
explained. 

“Well, we’ll show what sort of chance you 
have with a vengeance,” laughed one of the 
brothers. “But it really is hard on us.” 

The two boys flushed, and one of them 
began hotly, “Let me tell you, Mr. Slade,” 
— but the other put his hand on his arm, 
saying, “ What’s the use ? ” and pushed him 
gently toward the grounds. 

The Slades went into the club-house grum- 
bling. 

“Nice lot, those home players,” solilo- 
quized Grace. “I’ll pound the life out of 
them for that I ” 

He was still more inclined to revenge the 
Malvern youths later, after their defeat by 
the Slades, — which was not such a bad defeat 
after all, as they had won one of the four sets, 
and scored games in the others. But the 
Slades, with complete disregard for all rules 
of hospitality to say nothing of the etiquette 
of tennis, kept up a running comment of ridi- 


136 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


cule and criticism on their hopeful opponents’ 
play, and, much to Grace’s disgust, the spec- 
tators laughed and encouraged them. The 
visitors struggled hard, but ever3d}hing was 
against them ; they did not understand play- 
ing as a team, and though they were quick 
and sure-eyed enough, and their service was 
wonderfully strong, the partiality of the 
crowd “rattled” them, and the ridicule of 
their opponents was not likely to put them 
more at their ease. 

The man who had been asked to umpire 
with Grace was a college man, and they both 
had heard all that went on across the net in 
the final round. So when their duties were 
over, they went up to the defeated Malvern- 
ites and shook hands with them, and said 
something kind to them about their playing. 

But the cracks did not congratulate the 
winners. Indeed, they were so disgusted 
with the whole affair that they refused to be 
lionized by Mr. Clay and the spectators in 
any way, but went off to the hotel in the 
village for luncheon, — which desertion ren- 
dered the spread on the grounds as flat as a 
coming-of-age dinner with the comer-of-age 
left out. 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


137 


After luncheon, Thatcher, the other col- 
legian, had the pleasure of defeating the 
younger Slade in two straight sets, to his own 
and Grace’s satisfaction; but Mr. Thatcher’s 
satisfaction was somewhat dampened when 
Grace polished him off in the next round, 
after a game which Grace made as close as he 
could. 

Other rounds were going on in the other 
courts, and at five o’clock Grace and the elder 
Slade came together in the finals. Thatcher 
had gone home after wishing his conqueror 
luck, and Grace was left alone. He was not 
pleased to see that Slade’s brother was to act 
as one of the umpires, as he had noticed that 
his decisions in other games were carelessly 
incorrect. 

But he was in no way prepared for what 
followed. 

For the younger Slade’s umpiring in the 
final game was even more efficient in gaining 
points for the Hilltown side than was the 
elder’s playing. 

It was a matter of principle with Grace, as 
with all good players, never to question an 
umpire’s decision, and he had been taught 
the good old rule to “ Never kick in a winning 


138 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


game.” But the decisions were so outrageous 
that it soon came too close to being a los- 
ing game for him to allow them to continue. 
So, finally, after a decision of the brother’s 
had given Slade the second one of the two 
sets, Grace went to the referee and asked that 
some one be appointed to act in Mr. Slade’s 
place, as he did not seem to understand or to 
pay proper attention to the game. 

“Mr. Slade’s decisions have been simply 
ridiculous,” said Grace, “and they have all 
been against myself. This may be due to 
ignorance or carelessness, but in any case I 
object to him as an umpire most emphati- 
cally.” 

“Well, you can object to him all you 
please,” retorted the elder brother. “If you 
don’t like the way this tournament is con- 
ducted you can withdraw. You needn’t 
think you can come down here and attempt 
to run everything to suit yourself, even if 
you are a crack player. Do you mean to for- 
feit the game or not? ” 

“It seems to me, gentlemen,” stammered 
Mr. Percy Clay, excitedly, “ that if Mr. Grace 
desires another umpire — ” 

“ Oh, you keep out of this, will you ! ” 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


139 


retorted the omnipotent Slade, and Mr. Clay 
retreated hurriedly. 

Grace walked back into the court, and 
nodded to the referee that he was ready to 
go on. 

He was too angry to speak, but he men- 
tally determined to beat his opponent so 
badly, umpire or no umpire, that his friends 
would avoid tennis as a topic of conversation 
for months to come. 

This incendiary spirit made him hammer 
the innocent rubber balls to such purpose 
that the elder Slade was almost afraid of his 
life, and failed to return more than a dozen 
of the opponent’s strokes in the next two sets. 

His brother’s decisions were now even more 
ridiculous than before, but Grace pretended 
not to notice them. 

The game now stood two straight sets in 
Grace’s favor, and one set 6-5 in Slade’s — or 
in favor of both the Slades, for they had both 
helped to win it. 

Grace had four games love, in the final set, 
when in running back after a returned ball 
he tripped and fell over an obstacle, sprain- 
ing his right ankle very badly. The obstacle 
proved to be the leg of one of the Hilltown 


140 


THE GEE AT TRI-CLUB 


youths who was lying in the grass with his 
feet stuck out so far that they touched the 
line. 

Grace got up and tried to rest his weight 
on his leg, and then sat down again very 
promptly. 

He shut his teeth and looked around him. 

Nobody moved except Mr. Clay, who asked 
anxiously if Grace were hurt. Grace said 
that he was ; that he had sprained his ankle. 

The young gentleman over whom he had 
fallen had by this time curled his legs up 
under him, but made no proffer of assistance 
or apology. 

“Oh, that’s an old trick!” Grace heard 
the younger Slade say, in a tone which was 
meant to reach him. “Some men always 
sprain their ankles when they are not sure of 
winning. I guess he’ll be able to walk be- 
fore the year’s out.” 

Grace would have got up then and there 
and thrashed the younger Slade, ankle or no 
ankle, if he had not been pounced upon by 
the two Malvern boys, who pushed their way 
through the crowd with a pail of lemonade 
and a half dozen towels that they had picked 
up in the club-house. They slipped off his 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


141 


shoe and stocking, and dipping a towel in 
the iced lemonade, bound it about his ankle 
and repeated the operation several times, 
much to Grace’s relief. 

“ This lemonade was prepared for drinking 
purposes, I fancy,” said one of them, “but 
we couldn’t find anything else. I never 
heard of its being good for sprains, but it 
will have to do. How do you feel now ? ” 

“ All right, thank you, ” said Grace. “I’ve 
only these two games to play now, and it’s my 
serve. I needn’t run around much in that. 
Just give me a lift, will you? Thanks.” 

But as soon as Grace touched his foot to the 
ground, the boys saw that he was anything 
but all right. His face grew very white, 
and his lips lost their color. Whenever he 
moved he drew in his breath in short, quick 
gasps, and his teeth were clinched with pain. 

He lost his serve, and the next game as 
well, and before five minutes had passed he 
was two games to the bad in the last set. 

The Malvern boys came to him and told 
him to rest ; that he was not only going to 
lose the game, but that he might be doing se- 
rious injury as well to his ankle, which was 
already swelling perceptibly. But Grace 


142 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


only unlaced his shoe the further and set his 
teeth. One of the Malvernites took upon 
himself to ask the referee if he did not in- 
tend giving Mr. Grace a quarter of an hour’s 
“time ” at least. 

The referee said that the rules did not say 
anything about sprained ankles. 

“ Why, I know of tennis matches,” returned 
the Malvernite champion excitedly, “that 
have been laid over for hours because of a 
sprained ankle. It will be no glory to Mr. 
Slade to win from a man who has to hop 
about on one foot, and no credit either.” 

“Mr. Grace is a crack player, and I’m 
not,” said Slade; “but I asked no favors of 
him on that account, and I don’t expect him 
to ask any of me.” 

“ I haven’t asked any of you ! ” roared 
Grace, now wholly exasperated with anger 
and pain, “and you’ll wait some time before 
I do. Go on with the game.” 

The ankle grew worse, but Grace’s playing 
improved, notwithstanding. He felt that he 
would rather beat “ that Slade man ” than the 
champion himself; and he won each of his 
serves, not one of the balls being returned. 

They were now “five all,” and the ex- 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


143 


pressed excitement was uproarious in its 
bitterness and intensity. 

Slade had the serve, and it was with a look 
of perfect self-satisfaction that he pounded 
the first ball across the net. Grace returned 
it, and the others that followed brought the 
score up to ’vantage in Slade’s favor, so that 
he only needed one more point to win. 

The people stood up in breathless silence. 
Grace limped into position and waited, Slade 
bit his under lip nervously, and served the 
ball easily, and his opponent sent it back to 
him like an arrow ; it struck within a foot of 
the serving line on the inside, making the 
score “deuce.” 

“ Outside ! Game and set in favor of Mr. 
Slade,” chanted the younger Slade with an 
exultant cry. 

“What! ” shouted Grace and the two Mal- 
vernites in chorus. 

But the crowd drowned their appeal in 
exclamations of self-congratulation and tri- 
umph. 

“Did you see that ball?” demanded Grace 
of the referee. 

“I did,” said that young man. 

“ And do you mean to tell me it was out ? 


144 


THE GEE AT TRI-CLUB 


“It was — I do,” stammered the youth. 
“ You heard what Mr. Slade said.” 

“I don’t care what Mr. Slade said. I 
appeal to you against the most absurd decis- 
ion ever heard or given on a tennis-field.” 

“And I support Mr. Slade,” replied the 
referee. 

“Oh, very well! ” said Grace, with sudden 
quietness. “ Come, ” he whispered to his two 
lieutenants, “let’s get out of this. They’ll 
take our watches next!” And the three 
slowly made their way to the club-house. 

They helped Grace into his other clothes 
and packed up his tennis-flannels for him. 
He was very quiet and seemed more con- 
cerned about his ankle than over the loss of 
the State championship. 

Grace and his two supporters were so long 
in getting to the station, no one having offered 
Grace a carriage, that he missed his train. 

He was very much annoyed, for he was 
anxious to shake the dust of Hilltown from 
his feet, and he was more than anxious about 
his ankle. 

“Mr. Grace,” said Merton, “Prior and I 
were wondering if you would think we were 
presuming on our short acquaintance if we 


TENNIS TOUBNAMENT. 


145 


asked you to come home with us to Malvern. 
Y.ou can’t get back to college to-night from 
here, and Malvern is only ten miles off. My 
father is a doctor and could tell you what you 
ought to do about your ankle, and we would be 
very much pleased if you would stay with us. ” 

“Yes, indeed, we would, Mr. Grace,” 
echoed the younger lad. 

“Why, it’s very kind of you; you’re very 
good indeed! ” stammered Grace; “but I am 
afraid your family are hardly prepared to 
receive patients at all hours, and to have the 
house turned into a hospital.” 

Merton protested with dignity that he had 
asked Grace as a guest, not as a patient ; and 
they finally compromised upon Grace’s con- 
senting to go on to Malvern, but insisting 
on going to the hotel. 

Grace had not been at the Malvern Hotel, 
which was the only one in the place, and 
more of an inn than a hotel, for over ten 
minutes before Dr. Merton arrived in an 
open carriage and carried him off, whether 
he would or no, to his own house, where, 
after the ankle was dressed, Grace was 
promptly put to bed. 

In the morning, much to his surprise, he 


146 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


found that the swelling had almost entirely 
disappeared, and he was allowed in conse- 
quence to come down to the breakfast-table 
with the family, where he sat with his foot 
propped up on a chair. He was considered a 
very distinguished invalid and found it hard 
not to pose as a celebrity in the cross-fire of 
admiring glances from the younger Merton 
boys and the deferential questions of their 
equally young sisters. 

After breakfast, he was assisted out on to 
the lawn and placed in a comfortable wicker 
chair under a tree, where he could read his 
book or watch the boys play tennis, as he 
pleased. The tennis was so well worth 
watching that after regarding it critically for 
half an hour he suddenly pounded the arm of 
his chair and called excitedly for the boys to 
come to him. They ran up in some alarm. 

“No, there’s nothing wrong,” he said. “I 
have a great idea. I see a way for you to 
get even with those lads at Hilltown and to 
revenge me by proxy. All you need is a 
week’s training with better players than 
yourselves for this tri-club tournament antT 
you’ll be as good or better than they are now.” 

Then the champion explained how the 


TtJNNIS TOURNAMENT, 


147 


Malvern team, having no worthy opponents 
to practise against at home, were not able to 
improve in their playing ; that water would 
not rise above its own level ; and that all they 
required was competitors who were much 
better than themselves. 

“I can teach you something about team- 
play that you don’t seem to understand,” 
said Grace. “I will write to-day to that 
college chap, Thatcher, to come down with 
a good partner and they will give you some 
fine practice.” 

The Malvern boys were delighted. They 
wanted the lessons to begin at once, and as 
soon as the letter was despatched to Thatcher, 
Grace had his arm-chair moved up near the 
net and began his lectures on tennis, two 
boys from the Malvern club acting as the 
team’s opponents. 

Grace began by showing the boys the 
advantage of working as a team and not as 
individuals, how to cover both alleys at once, 
and how to guard both the front and back ; 
he told them where to stand so as not to 
interfere with each other’s play, when to 
“smash” a ball and when to lift it high in 
the air, where to place it and when to let it 


148 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


alone. Sometimes one play would be re- 
peated over and over again, and though 
Grace was a sharp master his team were only 
too willing to do as he commanded whether 
they saw the advantage of it or not. When 
the shadows began to grow long, and the 
dinner gong sounded, Grace told them they 
could stop, and said they had already made 
marked improvement, so they went in radiant 
with satisfaction and exercise, and delight- 
fully tired. 

Practice began promptly the next morn- 
ing, and continued steadily on to luncheon. 
At two o’clock Thatcher and another player 
arrived from the college, which was only a 
few miles distant from Malvern, and Grace 
gave them an account of his defeat at Hill- 
town and of the Slade’s treatment of the 
Malvernites. 

“You saw, Thatcher,” said Grace, “how 
they abused and insulted those boys. Well, 
these same boys have treated me as if I were 
one of their own family. Dr. and Mrs. Mer- 
ton have done everything that people could 
do. It has been really lovely, and I think 
I can show my appreciation of it by bring- 
ing back those cups from that hole in the 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


149 


ground called Hilltown. And I ask you to 
help me.” 

The college men entered heartily into 
Grace’s humor, and promised to come down 
every afternoon and give the boys all the 
practice they wanted. 

Every one belonging to the club had heard 
what was going on, by this time, and th^^ 
doctor’s big front la^wn was crowded with 
people all the afternoon in consequence. 

The improvement in the Malvern boy^’ 
playing was so great that every one came up 
to be introduced, and to congratulate Grace 
on the work he had done. He held quite a 
levee in his arm-chair. 

Mrs. Merton asked the college men to sup- 
per, and had some of the Malvern men and 
maidens to meet them. 

The visitors presumably enjoyed their first 
day very much, for when they returned the 
next morning they were accompanied by four 
more collegians, who showed the keenest 
interest in the practice games. 

These four men belonged to that set that 
is found in almost every college, whose mem- 
bers always seem to have plenty of time to 
encourage and aid every institution of Alma 


150 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


Mater, from the debating societies to the tug- 
of-war team. 

These particular four were always on the 
field when the teams practised; they bought 
more tickets than any one else for the Glee 
Club concerts; and no matter how far the 
foot-ball team might have to wander to play 
a match, they could always count on the 
appearance of the faithful four, clad in great- 
coats down to their heels, and with enough 
lung power to drown the cheers of a hundred 
opponents. 

Barnes, Blair, Black, and Buck were their 
proper names, but they were collectively 
known as the Four B’s, the Old Guard, or 
the Big Four; and Thatcher had so worked 
on their feelings that they were now quite 
ready to champion the Malvern team against 
their disagreeable opponents. 

They made a deep impression on the good 
townsfolk of Malvern. Different people car- 
ried them off to supper, but they all met 
later at Dr. Merton’s and sat out on his wide 
veranda in the moonlight, singing college 
songs to a banjo accompaniment which de- 
lighted the select few inside the grounds and 
equally charmed a vast number of the unin- 
vited who hung over the front fence. 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


151 


The practice games continued day after day, 
and once or twice the Malvern team suc- 
ceeded in defeating their instructors, which 
delighted no one more than the instructors 
themselves. 

Grace was very much pleased. He declared 
he would rather have his boy^ defeat the 
Slades than win the national tournament 
himself, and at the time he said so, he really 
believed that he would. 

He went around on crutches now, and it 
was very odd to see him vaulting about the 
court in his excitement, scolding and approv- 
ing, and shouting, “Leave that ball alone,” 
“Come up, now,” “Go back, play it easy,” 
“Smash it,” “Played, indeed, sir,” “Well 
placed.” 

The tri-club tournament opened on Wed- 
nesday, and on Tuesday the Four B’s, who 
had been daily visitors to Malvern, failed to 
appear, but sent instead two big pasteboard 
boxes, each holding a blazer, cap, and silk 
scarf, in blue-and-white stripes, the Malvern 
club colors, which they offered as their share 
toward securing the Malvern champions’ vie- 
Wy. 

On the last practice day, Grace balanced 


152 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


himself on his crutches and gave the boys 
the hardest serving they had ever tried to 
stand up against. All day long he pounded 
the balls just an inch above the net, and 
when they were able to return three out of 
six he threw down his racket and declared 
himself satisfied. “We may not take the 
singles,” he said, “but it looks as if the 
doubles were coming our way.” 

Grace and his boys, much to the disgust of 
the townspeople, all of whom, from the bur- 
gess down to the hostler in the Malvern 
Hotel, were greatly excited over the coming 
struggle, requested that no one should accom- 
pany them to Hilltown. They said if they 
took a crowd down there and were beaten it 
would only make their defeat more conspicu- 
ous, and that the presence of so many inter- 
ested friends might also make the boys 
nervous. If they won, they could celebrate 
the victory more decorously at home. But 
Grace could not keep the people from going 
as far as the depot to see them off, and they 
were so heartily cheered as they steamed 
away that the passengers and even the con- 
ductor were much impressed. 

The reappearance of Grace on crutches. 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


153 


and of the Malvern boys in their new clothes 
caused a decided sensation. They avoided 
any conversation with the Hilltown people, 
and allowed Grace to act for them in arrang- 
ing the preliminaries. 

Pineville had sent two teams. Hilltown 
was satisfied with the “State champions,” 
as they now fondly called the Slades, and 
these, with Malvern’s one team, balanced the 
games evenly. 

The doubles opened with Merton and Prior 
against the second Pineville team, and the 
State champions against its first. Grace told 
his boys not to exert themselves, and to play 
only just well enough to win. They did as 
he said, and the second Pineville team were 
defeated in consequence by so few points 
that they felt quite pleased with themselves. 
The Slades had but little trouble with the 
other Pineville team. 

Then the finals came on, and the people of 
Hilltown crowded up to see the demolition 
of the Malvernites, against whom they were 
now more than bitter, owing to Grace’s evi- 
dent interest in their success. 

The Hilltown element were so anxious to 
show their great regard for the champions 


154 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


that they had contributed an extra amount 
of money toward the purchase of prize cups 
over and above the fixed sum subscribed by 
each of the three clubs. 

“Get those cups ready for us,” said the 
elder Slade, as the four players took their 
places. Prior looked as if he was going to 
answer this taunt, but Grace shook his head 
at him. 

Thatcher, whose late service to the Mal- 
vern team was unknown, acted at their re- 
quest as one of the umpires. Two Hilltown 
men served as the referee and other umpire. 
The game opened up in a way that caused a 
cold chill to run down the backs of the Hill- 
town contingent. The despised Malvernites 
were transformed, and Hilltown could not 
believe its eyes. 

“ Are these the same boys who were here 
ten days ago?” asked an excited old gentle- 
man. 

“They say they are,” replied Mr. Percy 
Clay, gloomily, “but they don’t look it.” 

The Slades felt a paralyzing numbness 
coming over them as ball after ball came 
singing back into their court, placed in odd 
corners just out of reach of their racquets. 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT, 


155 


They held a hurried consultation, and 
rolled up their sleeves a little higher and 
tossed away their caps. 

Grace had a far-away and peaceful look in 
his eyes that made the crowd feel nervous. 
The first set went six to four in favor of Mal- 
vern. Then the crowd surrounded the cham- 
pions and poured good advice and reproaches 
upon them, which did not serve to help 
either their play or their temper. 

The result of the second set convinced the 
umpire and referee that it was time to take a 
hand in the game themselves, and the decis- 
ions at once became so unfair that Grace 
hobbled over to that end of the court to see 
after things. But his presence had no effect 
on the perceptions of the Hilltown umpire. 
So he hobbled back to Thatcher and asked 
him what they had better do about it. 
Thatcher said he was powerless, and Grace 
regretted bitterly that he had not brought a 
crowd with him to see fair play, for the boys 
were getting rattled at being robbed of so 
many of their hard- won points. To make 
matters worse, the crowd took Thatcher in 
hand, and disputed every decision he gave 
against Hilltown. Thatcher’s blood rose at 


156 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


this, and forgetting that the usual procedure 
would not be recognized by a Hilltown crowd, 
he turned on the spectators and told them that 
he would have the next man who interfered 
or questioned his decisions expelled from the 
grounds. 

His warning was received with ripples of 
laughter and ironical cheers. 

“Who’s going to put us out?” asked the 
Hilltown youths, derisively. But Thatcher 
had spoken in a rather loud voice, and his 
words and the answer to them had reached 
the ears of four straight-limbed young men 
who were at that moment making their way 
across the grounds. They broke into a run 
when they heard Thatcher’s angry voice, 
and, shoving their way through the big crowd 
with an abruptness learned only in practice 
against a rush line on a foot-ball field, stood 
forth on the court in all the glory of orange 
and black blazers. 

“The Four B’s! ” exclaimed Grace, with a 
gasp of relief. 

“ What seems to be the matter, Thatcher? ” 
asked Black, quietly. “ Whom do you want 
put out ? ” 

“ Who are you ? ” demanded Mr. Clay, run- 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


157 


ning up in much excitement. “ Get off this 
court. You’ll be put out yourselves if you 
attempt to interfere.” 

Several of the Hilltown young men ran to 
Mr. Clay’s assistance, while one of the Slades 
leaped over the net and seized Mr. Clay by 
the shoulder. 

“Don’t he a fool, Clay!” he whispered. 
“ I know those men. Two of them play on 
the foot-ball team, and if they felt like it 
they could turn the whole town out of the 
grounds. Leave them alone.” 

Mr. Clay left them alone. 

“Go on, Thatcher,” said Black, with a 
nod, “if any of these gentlemen object to 
any decision, we will discuss it with them. 
That’s what we’re here for.” Two of the 
Big Four seated themselves at the feet of the 
Hilltown umpire, and looked wistfully up at 
him whenever he made a close decision. It 
was remarkable how his eyesight was im- 
proved by their presence. 

The Malvern boys beamed with confidence 
again. The second set went to them, 6-4. 
Grace was so delighted that he excitedly 
stamped his bad foot on the turf, and then 
howled with pain. 


158 


TEE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


The last set was “for blood,’’ — as one of 
the four collegians said. 

The Slades overcame their first surprise, 
and settled down to fight for every point. 
The Malvernites gave them all the fight they 
^wanted. One by one the games fell now on 
one side, now on the other side of the net. 
And when it came five games all, the disgust 
and disappointment of the crowd showed it- 
self in shouts and cheers for their champions 
and hoots for their young opponents. 

But all the cheering and hooting could not 
change the result. 

“Set and game! Malvern wins!” shouted 
Thatcher, and then, forgetting his late judi- 
cial impartiality, threw his arms around Mer- 
ton’s neck and yelled. 

The silence of the Hilltown people was so 
impressive that the wild yell of the college 
contingent sounded like a whole battery of 
skyrockets instead of only four, and Grace 
sat down on the court and pounded the 
ground with his crutches. 

“ That’s enough for me,” he cried; “ I don’t 
care for the singles. I know when I’ve had 
enough! I’d have two sprained ankles to 
do it over again ! ” 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


159 


Then the Slades announced that the singles 
would begin immediately after luncheon. 

The Malvern contingent went to the hotel 
to find something to eat, and Blair slipped 
away to telegraph to Malvern. 

Five minutes later the operator at that place 
jumped as if he had received a shock from 
his own battery, and ran out into the street 
shouting, “Malvern’s won the doubles, three 
straight sets ! ” 

Judge Prior’s coachman, who was waiting 
at the station for an express package, turned 
his horse and galloped back up Malvern’s 
only street, shouting out : 

“We’ve won. Master John and Mr. Mer- 
ton’s won the tennis match.” 

And then the people set to work to prepare 
a demonstration. 

The Hilltown people thought they had 
never seen young men so disagreeable as 
were the Big Four after luncheon. They 
seated themselves like sentinels at the four 
corners of the court, and whenever any one 
ventured to jeer at Malvern’s representative 
they would burst into such an enthusiasm of 
cheering as to di’own the jeers and deafen the 
spectators. 


160 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


There was no one in the singles but Slade 
and Merton, the Pineville representative hav- 
ing decided to drop out. Merton was ner- 
vous, and Slade was determined to win. 
Both played as they had never played before, 
but Slade’s service, which was his strong 
point, was nothing after the one to which 
Grace had accustomed Merton. And in spite 
of Slade’s most strenuous efforts the games 
kept coming slowly and slightly in Merton’s 
favor. 

They were two sets all and were beginning 
the final set, when Barnes arose and disap- 
peared in the crowd. But those of the quar- 
tette who were left made noise enough to 
keep Merton playing his best. It became a 
more and more bitter fight as the end drew 
near. Grace was so excited that not even 
his sprained ankle could keep him quiet, and 
Thatcher had great difficulty in restraining a 
desire to shout. At last Merton got “ ’van- 
tage,” with only one point to win, but he 
missed the next ball and back went the score 
to “ deuce ” again. Three times this hap- 
pened, and three times the college men half 
rose from the ground expecting to cheer, and 
then sank back again. “If he does that 


TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 


161 


again,” said Grace, “ I’ll have nervous pros- 
tration ! ” But he didn’t do it again. He 
smashed the next ball back into Slade’s court 
far out of his way, and then pulled down his 
sleeves as unconcernedly as if he had been 
playing a practice game. 

The next moment Prior and the others had 
lifted him up on their shoulders, and were 
tramping around the field with him shouting, 
“What’s the matter with Malvern?” and 
“We are the people ! ” and many other such 
highly ridiculous and picturesque cries of 
victory. 

And then there came a shout from the 
entrance to the grounds, and up the carriage- 
way rode Barnes mounted on top of an old- 
fashioned, yellow-bodied stage-coach that he 
had found in some Hilltown livery-stable and 
decorated from top to bottom with the Mal- 
vern colors. He had four horses in hand, and 
he was waving his whip and shouting as if a 
pack of wolves or Indians were in close pursuit. 

The boys clambered up on top of the coach 
and began blowing the horns and affixing the 
new brooms that Barnes had thoughtfully 
furnished for them. They were in such a 
hurry to start that they forgot the prizes; 


162 


THE GEE AT TEI-CLUB 


and if Grace had not reminded the boys, they 
would have gone home content without the 
tokens of victory. 

The faces of Mr. Percy Clay and the other 
contributors to the silver cups when they 
saw the prizes handed up to that “ Malvern 
gang,” as they now called them, were most 
pitiful. 

“Fancy our giving two hundred dollars 
extra for those cups, and then having them 
go to Malvern ! ” groaned Mr. Clay. 

The boys took the prizes without remark, 
and had the courtesy not to open the boxes 
in which the cups reposed on blue velvet un- 
til they were out of sight of the men who 
had lost them with such bad grace. 

But when once they were on the road, with 
the wind whistling around their hats and the 
trees meeting over their heads and the sun 
smiling its congratulations as it sank for the 
night, they examined the cups, and Grace 
said he had never seen any handsomer. 

It really seemed as if the ten miles was 
covered in as many minutes, and though dogs 
ran out and barked at them, and the people in 
the fields stared at them as if they thought they 
were crazy, and although Barnes insisted on 


TENNIS touenament: 


163 


driving over every stone he could find and 
almost upsetting them, they kept up their 
spirits and shouted and sang the whole way. 

The engineer of the train that had taken 
them up saw the coach on his return trip 
bounding through the shady high road where 
it ran parallel with his track, and told the 
operator at Malvern that “those boys were 
coming back on top of a circus band-wagon.” 

And the people of Malvern were ready to 
receive them, though they were still ignorant 
of the second victory. The young people 
lined the high road for a distance beyond the 
town, and the boys saw them from afar, seated 
on the fence-rails and in carts and wagons. 
The other members of the club saw the stage, 
also, for one of the boys had been up in a 
tree on the lookout for the last half hour. 
And they waved the club colors and all the 
flags they had been able to get at such short 
notice ; but it was not until three of the Big 
Four stood up on top of the coach at the risk 
of breaking their necks, and held up the cups 
and waved them around their heads until 
they flashed like mirrors, that the club really 
cheered. And when they saw that there were 
THREE cups they set up such a hurrah that the 


164 


THE GREAT TRI-CLUB 


COWS in the next field tore madly off in a stam- 
pede. That night everybody in town came 
to Dr. Merton’s with the village band and 
thronged the big lawn ; and Merton made a 
speech in which he spoke very highly of Prior, 
and of the Big Four who had helped to save 
the day, and of Thatcher, but most of all of 
Grace. 

Then Grace had to speak leaning on his 
crutches ; and the band played and the college 
boys sang and everybody handled the prizes 
and admired them even to the champions’ 
satisfaction. 

The next day Grace bade his new friends 
good by and went back to college, where his 
absence was attributed to his sprained ankle. 
He thought of the people of Malvern very 
often, of the twilight evenings spent on Dr. 
Merton’s lawn listening to the college boys’ 
singing, and talking to the girls of the Mal- 
vern Tennis Club, and of the glorious victory 
of his pupils and the friendliness and kind- 
ness of his hosts. 

He knew he would never forget them, but 
he hardly thought they would long remember 
him. 

But, two weeks later, the expressman 


TENNIS TOUBNAMENT. 


165 


brought a big box with a smaller black one 
inside of it ; and within, resting on its blue 
velvet bed, was a facsimile of the prize-cup 
of the tri-club tournament. And it was 
marked, “ To Charles Coleridge Grace. From 
the people of Malvern.” 

And when Grace exhibits the many prizes 
he has won, they say that it is this cup which 
he did not win that he handles most tenderly 
and shows with the greatest prid®. 


THE JUMP AT COEEY^S SLIP. 


The jump from Corey’s slip was never 
made but by two of the Brick Dust Gang, 
and though, as it turned out, they were not 
sorry they had taken it, they served as a 
warning to all the others of the gang against 
trying to emulate their daring. 

Corey’s slip, as everybody knows, is part of 
Corey’s brick-yard, on the East side, near 
the Twenty-sixth street wharf, and the Brick 
Dust Gang are so called because they have a 
hidden meeting-place among the high piles of 
bricks which none of the other boys, nor the 
police, nor even the employees of the brick- 
yard have been able to find. It is known to 
exist, though, and the gang meet there to 
smoke and play the accordion and gamble for 
cigarette pictures, and to pursue such other 
sinful and demoralizing practices of East side 
youth as they elect. 

The Brick Dust Gang must not be con- 
166 


THE JUMP AT COBEY'S SLIP, 167 


founded with the Rag Gang of “ The- Bay,” 
near Thirty-third street, for, while the Rag 
Gang are thieves and toughs, the Brick Dust 
Gang are too young to be very wicked, and 
their “ folks ” are too respectable to let them 
go very far astray. The gang got along very 
well during the winter months, and the hole 
in the bricks was filled every afternoon after 
the public schools had closed, with from a 
dozen to twenty of them. 

Buck Mooney was the leader, and no one 
disputed his claim, for he was a born leader 
in some respects, just as was his father, who 
could throw the votes of the Luke J. Mooney 
Star Social Club wherever they would do 
himself and the party the most good. But 
his son Buck was quick-tempered and stronger 
than he knew, and he had a way of knocking 
the younger and less pugilistic members of his 
crowd around which was injudicious ; for by 
this he hurt his own popularity as well as 
their heads. 

He was no bully though, and there was no 
one who could lead him in any show of physi- 
cal prowess recognized and practised by the 
gang. So all through the wdnter he was 
easily the leader, and no one stood against 


168 THE JUMP AT COREY^S SLIP. 


him. His fall came in the spring. The com- 
ing of the spring meant more to the Brick 
Dust Gang than to almost any other crowd 
along the river front, for their knowledge of 
the brick-yard and its wharf enabled them to 
bathe in the river quite hidden from the 
police at any hour of the day, and this means 
a great deal to those who have felt the stifling 
heat of the tenements along the East River. 

They bathed and swam and dived from the 
flrst of May until the autumn came and gave 
the water such a sharpness that they left it 
numbed and with chattering teeth, and they 
began at five in the morning and kept it up 
late into the night. They lived in the water, 
and were rather more at home in it than they 
were on the streets. The workmen in the 
brick-yard never interfered with them, because 
the boys helped them in piling the bricks and 
in unloading the scows and loading the carts ; 
and the police could never catch them, for 
the reason that the boys always kept a part 
of the gang posted as sentinels in the yard. 

Mooney and Tommy Grant were easily the 
best swimmers in the crowd. Tommy was 
four years younger than the leader, and small 
and consumptive-looking; but he was absurdly ' 


THE JUMP AT COBEY'S SLIP. lt)9 


strong for his size, and his body was as hard 
and muscular as a jockey’s. The trouble 
began between the two at the swimming- 
match at Harlem for all comers, where they 
both entered for the one-mile race with a turn. 
The Harlem boys were not in it from the first, 
and the two down-town boys led all the others 
by a hundred yards. “ The little fellow,” as 
Tommy was called by the crowds on the 
shore, was the popular favorite ; and the crowd 
was delighted when he came plunging in 
ahead, swimming so much under water that 
only one bare shoulder and revolving arm 
told where he was. 

Buck Mooney, the leader of the gang, was a 
bad second and a bad loser as well. He swore 
a great deal when his backers pulled him out 
of the water, and gave every reason for 
Tommy’s success, except that Tommy could 
swim faster than he could. 

When Tommy appeared around the streets 
the next day with the big gold medal on his 
coat, and with the words “ Champion of the 
East River” blazoned on it, Mooney felt worse 
than ever, and grew so ugly over it that some 
of the gang soon turned against him, and his 
hold over them disappeared. Little Tommy 


170 THE JUMP AT COREY'S SLIP. 


took his place without any formal election, 
and Mooney sulked and said unpleasant things 
about him behind his back. 

They never came to blows, but they both 
grew to hate each other cordially, — princi- 
pally through the stories their friends told of 
each to the other, as friends, true friends, are 
found to do, in all classes of society. So the 
breach grew very great and the gang was 
divided and lost its influence. One faction 
would refuse to act as sentinel for the other, 
and each claimed the meeting-place. On the 
whole, it was very unpleasant, and most un- 
satisfactory to those who loved peace. 

It was evident that something must be 
done ; either the gang must separate into two 
crowds or reunite again under one leader. It 
was a foolish, dare-devil young Irish boy that 
suggested how this last and much-desired 
result could be accomplished. There was a 
big derrick at the end of the wharf to lift the 
buckets of coal from the scows, when the 
place was used for a coal-yard. 

Some of the more daring boys had jumped 
from the middle bar of this derrick, in emula- 
tion of Steve Brodie, whose jump from the 
Brooklyn Bridge and subsequent elevation to 


THE JUMP AT COEEY'S SLIP, 171 


the proprietorship of a saloon had stirred up 
every boy in the East side. It was a dan- 
gerous thing to do, because there was an 
outer row of posts beyond the slip, and who- 
ever jumped had to jump out far enough to 
strike the water beyond them. For, if he 
should not jump far enough — 

What the Irish boy proposed was that some 
one should try to dive — not jump — from 
the very top of the derrick. The derrick was 
fifty feet above the water, and the outer line 
of posts was eight feet from the slip and fif^ 
teen feet from the line of the derrick. It 
looked like just what it was — an impossibil- 
ity — for any one but the coolest and most 
practised diver. 

“ If a lad should do it,” objected one of the 
gang, “ and ’ud hit them piles, there’d be no 
getting at him quick e’cept from the top of 
the derrick. He’d sink afore any one could 
get around the piles to him from the slip.” 

“There’d be no need to hurry,” said an- 
other, grimly. “He’d keep till the police 
boat picked him up.” 

“Well, the morgue’s handy,” commented 
another, flippantly, with a nod of his head to- 
ward Bellevue Hospital, back of them. 


172 THE JUMP AT COBEY SLIP, 


As ill luck would have it, Mooney came up 
just then, and they told him what they were 
discussing. 

“ I’ll bet Tommy Grant wouldn’t be afeard 
to try it,” said one of the youngest. 

That was enough for Mr. Mooney. He 
said with a sneer that Tommy would be 
afraid, and of course Tommy was told of this 
at once, and Tommy, after a careful survey 
of the jump, said it was suicide. And then 
Mooney called him a coward, and said he’d 
do it, and he’d show him who was fit to lead 
the gang. 

The elder boys told him not to be a fool. 
Tommy among the number ; but he said they 
were cry-babies, and told them to keep quiet 
about it and to meet at the wharf at seven 
that evening. 

The tide was low then, and the piles showed 
high above the water. At high tide they 
were covered, and besides there were very few 
people about at that hour. 

At seven o’clock twenty of them gathered 
at the end of the wharf. They were badly 
scared and wished they were well out of it, 
but there was no stopping Mooney. The 
more they begged him not to do it, the more 


THE JUMP AT COBEY^S SLIP. 173 


he laughed at them. He climbed the ladder 
to the top of the derrick alone, and stripped 
off every thread but his swimming tights and 
the scapular around his neck. The big posts 
rose out of the water in front of the slip 
— black, slimy-looking, and as pitiless as 
rocks. 

Van Bibber and some of his friends in their 
steam yacht lying at anchor off the New 
York Yacht Club’s wharf saw the boy mount- 
ing the ladder and shouted to the other boys 
to stop him. The other boys would have 
liked to do what the gentlemen suggested, 
but it was too late. But Tommy ran half- 
way up the ladder, begging his rival to come 
down. Mooney swore at him to go back, and 
Tommy hung there half-way up and fearful 
to do more lest he should rattle the ex-leader 
of the gang. 

The gentlemen on the yacht told two of 
the crew to jump into the rowboat and pick 
the young fool up, and the sailors ran to cast 
off the skiff. 

Then they saw Mooney outlined against 
the dark background of the tenements, as 
motionless as a marble statue on a high ped- 
estal. 


174 THE JUMP AT COREY'S SLIP. 


He raised his arms slowly over his head 
until the finger tips met and interlaced, then 
he bent his knees and his body swung forward. 
There was a brief, breathless silence as he 
dived out and down, and then a yell from the 
yacht and a gasping cry from the boys, as they 
saw him throw out his hands wildly to save 
himself, and saw that he had misjudged the 
distance and would strike the posts. Some 
of the youngest boys turned sick and sank 
whimpering to their knees, and six of the 
older ones dived like one man into the water 
to pull him out. He had struck the posts 
with his arm, had turned, striking them 
again, and then sank without a cry into the 
river. 

The sailors in the rowboat had just started 
toward the spot and the club men were curs- 
ing them for their slowness. The six boys in 
the water were shut off from Mooney by the 
posts, and slipped back after they had tried 
vainly to climb over them. 

“ He’s killed. He’ll be drowned. Ah, he’s 
sunk for good,” the boys wailed and cried in 
chorus. 

Young Tommy from his post half-way up 
the ladder, saw that before the boat could 


THE JUMP AT COBEY'S SLIP, 175 

reach his rival, or the boys could get around 
the piles to him, he would be drowned, and 
so he ran up the rest of the ladder, poised for 
just a second, and then took the second and last 
jump that was ever taken from Corey’s slip. 
He cleared the posts by an inch or two, turned 
in the water before he had gone half-way into 
it, and dived to where he saw the white body 
settling towards the bottom. 

The sailors in the rowboat reached him in 
time to pull him out and carry him to the 
yacht with the bruised and unconscious body 
of his rival in his arms. Then the gentlemen 
sent Mooney over to the hospital, and wanted 
to make up a purse for Tommy, but he said it 
was “all right” and “hadn’t done nuthin’ 
anyhow.” It took several weeks for Mooney’s 
leg and arm to knit, and he limped for months 
afterward. 

The gentlemen on the yacht wanted to com- 
promise by giving Tommy a medal, but he 
said he’d had enough trouble over the last 
medal, and asked why they did not give it to 
Mooney, for he had taken the jump in cold 
blood ; “ an’ I,” said Tommy, “ just did it be- 
cause I was in a hurry to get down.” 

So Van Bibber and the other yachtsmen 


176 TBE JUMP AT COREY'S SLIP. 


gave Mooney a very fine medal, which told 
that he was the “ Champion Diver of the 
East River.” And now there are two leaders 
to the gang, though each protests that the 
other is the only one. 


THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL 
CLUB. 


Young Van Bibber decided that he ought 
to take some people to the circus. He had 
long outgrown the age when the circus only- 
pleased, but some of the men had said it was 
the thing to do just as it was the thing to go 
incognito to see Carmencita dance ; and so 
he purchased a big box in the very centre of 
the lowest tier and wrote to Mrs. Dick Was- 
sails that it was at her service and that she 
could fill it with whom she pleased. He 
added that he would expect them to take 
supper with him later. 

He owed Mrs. Dick, as everybody called 
her, a great deal for many social favors, and 
he thought to make things even in this way ; 
but Mrs. Dick was engaged for that evening, 
and said she was so sorry and begged to be 
excused. So young Van Bibber sent off a 
note to the Gramercys, with whom he wished 
to become more intimate, and whom h© 


177 


178 THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL CLUB, 


wished to put under an obligation. But they 
were just going abroad and were in the midst 
of preparations and they also begged to be 
excused. 

It was getting very near the night now, and 
Van Bibber ran over in his mind the names 
of all of those people to whom he owed some- 
thing or who might some day do something 
for him. He tried the Van Warps, because 
they owned a yacht, but they were going to a 
wedding; and he tried the Van Blunts, on 
account of their house at Lenox, and found 
that their great uncle had just died and that 
they were going to the funeral. Then he 
asked the men in the club, but the one who 
gave such good dinners thought it would be 
too much of a bore ; and another, whose sister 
Van Bibber wanted to know better, said he 
was afraid he would catch cold, and others, 
all of whom had been civil to him in one 
way or another, began to make excuses. So 
young Van Bibber stood on the steps of the 
club and kicked viciously at the mat. He 
decided that his friends were a very poor 
lot. “ One would think I was trying to 
borrow money from them,” soliloquized Van 
Bibber. 


THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL CLUB. 179 

“ Where to ? ” asked the driver of the han- 
som. 

“To the circus,” said Van Bibber. It was 
a long ride, and he had time to make up his 
mind that he had been foolish in starting out ; 
but as he was already more than half-way 
there he kept on. He had determined to see 
that circus himself in solitary state from 
that box, notwithstanding his irresponsive 
friends. 

But at the entrance to the circus three 
small boys, in every way representatives of the 
coming “ tough,” waylaid him for ten cents 
to get into the side show — only ten cents, 
that was all they wanted. They did not 
aspire to such a pinnacle of happiness as the 
circus itself. But Young Van Bibber saw a 
way to use his box and to show his smart 
friends how somebody, at least, appreciated 
his invitations. 

“ Go get three more boys like you,” he 
said ; “ dirty boys that haven’t seen the cir- 
cus, and I’ll take you in.” 

The three youths looked at him uncertainly 
for a moment. 

“Ah, he’s kiddin’ us,” said one of them, 
doubtfully. 


180 THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL CLUB. 


But there was such an innocent and embar- 
rassed expression on young Van Bibber’s face 
that they concluded he must mean it. 

“ Besides,” said one of them, “ don’t you’se 
see he’s a priest ? He wouldn’t tell no lies.’’ 

Van Bibber for the first time became con- 
scious of his white lawn tie and his long 
cape-cloak. 

“Priests don’t go to circuses,” suggested 
one of the trio. 

“ Are you going to get those other boys or 
not?” asked Van Bibber, impatiently. It 
really seemed as if nobody was willing to go 
with him. But there was over a dozen boys 
about him by this time, and he picked out 
three of the smallest and raggedest. Then 
he shoved them all into the circus before him 
like so many chickens and saw, without car- 
ing, that the men by the door were laughing 
at him. 

The boys raced about at first and yelled to 
each other to come see this animal, and to 
watch that one shaking the bars. Van Bibber 
wandered around after them. They seemed 
to be having a very good time, and he felt a 
queer sensation of satisfaction in some one 
else’s pleasure which was oddly pleasing. 


THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL CLUB. 181 

Then they flocked back to him again and 
informed him it was time to “get into the 
show part,” and so he led them, to the grave 
disgust of the attendants, to the principal 
box in the place. 

“ My eyes ! but I wish de boys could see 
me now,” said one of them, pride and happi- 
ness beaming from every feature of his face. 
“ I guess this is old man Barnum’s box, for 
sure.” 

Van Bibber sat in the back of the box. He 
didn’t mind how the people around them 
smiled. He felt himself very far above them, 
and in a position to do as many eccentric 
things as he pleased. And he found himself 
enjoying the show and the friendly interest 
his guests took in him, and in their fear lest 
he couldn’t see everything, or that he might 
miss what the clowns said. 

He stopped the man who sold peanuts and 
candies, and distributed them lavishly. It 
was cheaper by far than a Delmonico supper, 
and he enjoyed seeing the half-famished way 
in which the young rascals fell upon the sup- 
plies and stowed them away. They were 
really very noisy and wildly excited, but he 
didn’t care. He never remembered having 


182 THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL CLUB, 

given anybody so much extreme pleasure be- 
fore in his life. 

When it was all over and the big spectacu- 
lar show that had held them breathless had 
ended, he fought his way out to the waiting 
hansom, very well pleased with the night’s 
experience. But before he got away his guests 
crowded around him at the door, and one of 
them, who, as they had privately informed 
him, was no less distinguished an individual 
than the captain of Open Lots Baseball Club, 
of which they were all members, thanked him 
very civilly and asked him his name. He gave 
the captain his card with grave politeness and 
shook hands with all of them with equal 
solemnity, and then drove down town and 
had a solitary supper. On the whole, he con- 
cluded that though he had made nothing by 
it, he had not wasted the box, and he went 
to bed satisfied. 

And two days later he received iu a very 
dirty envelope the following epistle : 

Dear Sir — At a meeting of the Open 
Lots Baseball Club it was voted, on account 
of your kindness, to change the name to the 
Courtland Van Bibber Baseball Club, which 


THE VAN BIBBER BASEBALL CLUB. 183 


it is now, as a mark of our apreshun of your 
kindness. Truly yours, 

Tbbbncb Fahby McGloin, 

Capt. C, Van. B. B. B. C. 

“So,” said Van Bibber, as he put the letter 
carefully away, “ It pays to go out into the 
highways, after all.” 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


Young Charley .Chadwick had been brought 
up on his father’s farm in New Jersey. The 
farm had been his father’s before his father 
died, and was still called Chadwick’s Meadows 
in his memory. It was a very small farm, and 
for the most part covered with clover and long, 
rich grass, that were good for pasturing, and 
nothing else. Charley was too young, and 
Mrs. Chadwick was too much of a housekeeper 
and not enough of a farmer’s wife, to make the 
most out of the farm, and so she let the mead- 
ows to the manager of the Cloverdale Stock 
Farm. This farm is only half a mile back 
from the Monmouth Park race track at Long 
Branch. 

The manager put a number of young colts 
in it to pasture, and took what grass they did 
not eat to the farm. Charley used to ride 
these colts back to the big stables at night, 
and soon grew to ride very well, and to know 
184 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 185 


a great deal about horses and horse breeding 
and horse racing. Sometimes they gave him 
a mount at the stables, and he was permitted 
to ride one of the race horses around the 
private track, while the owner took the time 
from the judges’ stand. 

There was nothing in his life that he en- 
joyed like this. He had had very few pleas- 
ures, and the excitement and delight of 
tearing through the air on the back of a 
great animal, was something he thought 
must amount to more than anything else in 
the world. His mother did not approve of 
his spending his time at the stables, but she 
found it very hard to refuse him, and he 
seemed to have a happy faculty of picking up 
only what was good, and letting what was evil 
pass by him and leave him unhurt. The good 
that he picked up was his love for animals, 
his thoughtfulness for them, and the forbear- 
ance and gentleness it taught him to use, 
with even the higher class of animals who 
walk on two legs. 

He was fond of all the horses, because they 
were horses ; but the one he liked best was 
Heroine, a big black mare that ran like an 
express train. He and Heroine were the two 


186 


TEE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


greatest friends in the stable. The horse 
loved him as a horse does love its master 
sometimes, and though Charley was not her 
owner, he was in reality her master, for 
Heroine would have left her stall and carried 
Charley off to the ends of the continent if he 
had asked her to run away. 

When a man named Oscar Behren bought 
Heroine, Charley thought he would never be 
contented again. He cried about it all along 
the country road from the stables to his home, 
and cried about it again that night in bed. 
He knew Heroine would feel just as badly 
about it as he did, if she could know they 
were to be separated. Heroine went off to 
run in the races for which her new master 
had entered her, and Charley heard of her 
only through the newspapers. She won often, 
and became a great favorite, and Charley was 
afraid she would forget the master of her 
earlier days before she became so famous. 
And when he found that Heroine was entered 
to run at the Monmouth Park race track, he 
became as excited over the prospect of seeing 
his old friend again, as though he were going 
to meet his promised bride, or a long-lost 
brother who had accumulated several millions 
in South America. 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY, 187 


He was at the station to meet the Behren 
horses, and Heroine knew him at once and 
he knew Heroine, although she was all blan- 
keted up and had grown so much more beau- 
tiful to look at, that it seemed like a second 
and improved edition of the horse he had 
known. Heroine won several races at Long 
Branch, and though her owner was an un- 
popular one, and one of whom many queer 
stories were told, still Heroine was always 
ridden to win, and win she generally did. 

The race for the July Stakes was the big 
race of the meeting, and Heroine was the 
favorite. Behren was known to be backing 
her with thousands of dollars, and it was 
almost impossible to get anything but even 
money on her. The day before the race Mc- 
Callen, the jockey who was to ride her, was 
taken ill, and Behren was in great anxiety 
and greatly disturbed as to where he could 
get a good substitute. Several people told 
him it made no difference, for the mare was 
as sure as sure could be, no matter who rode 
her. Then some one told him of Charley, 
who had taken out a license when the racing 
season began, and who had ridden a few un- 
important mounts. 


188 THE STORY OF A JOCKEY, 

Behren looked for Charley and told him 
he would want him to ride for the July 
Stakes, and Charley went home to tell his 
mother about it, in a state of wild delight. 
To ride the favorite, and that favorite in 
such a great race, was as much to him as to 
own and steer the winning yacht in the trans- 
atlantic match for the cup. 

He told Heroine all about it, and Heroine 
seemed very well pleased. But while he was 
standing hidden in Heroine’s box stall, he 
heard something outside that made him won- 
der. It was Behren’s voice, and he said in a 
low tone : — 

“ Oh, McCallen’s well enough, but I didn’t 
want him for this race. He knows too much. 
The lad I’ve got now, this country boy, 
wouldn’t know if the mare had the blind 
staggers.” 

Charley thought over this a great deal, and 
all that he had learned on the tracks and 
around the stables came to assist him in judg- 
ing what it was that Behren meant ; and that 
afternoon he found out. 

The race track with the great green enclos- 
sures and the grand stand as high as a hill, 
were as empty as a college campus in vaca- 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY, 


189 


tion time, but for a few of the stable boys 
and some of the owners, and a colored waiter 
or two. It was interesting to think what it 
would be like a few hours later when the 
trains had arrived from New York with 
eleven cars each and the passengers hanging 
from the steps, and the carriages stretched 
all the way from Long Branch. Then 
there would not be a vacant seat on the 
grand stand or a blade of grass untram- 
pled. 

Charley was not nervous when he thought 
of this, but he was very much excited. How- 
land S. Maitland, who owned a stable of 
horses and a great many other expensive 
things, and who was one of those gentlemen 
who make the racing of horses possible, and 
Curtis, the secretary of the meeting, came 
walking towards Charley looking in at the 
different horses in the stalls. 

“ Heroine,” said Mr. Maitland, as he read 
the name over the door. “Can we have a 
look at her ? ” he said. 

Charley got up and took off his hat. 

“ I am sorry, Mr. Maitland,” he said, “ but 
my orders from Mr. Behren are not to allow 
any one inside. I am sure if Mr. Behren 


190 THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 

were here he would be very glad to show 
you the horse ; but you see, I’m responsible, 
sir, and — ” 

“ Oh, that’s all right ! ” said Mr. Maitland 
pleasantly, as he moved on. 

“ There’s Mr. Behren now,” Charley called 
after him, as Behren turned the corner. “ I’ll 
run and ask him.” 

“No, no, thank you,” said Mr. Maitland 
hurriedly, and Charley heard him add to Mr. 
Curtis, “ I don’t want to know the man.” It 
hurt Charley to find that the owner of Hero- 
ine and the man for whom he was to ride 
was held in such bad repute that a gentleman 
like Mr. Maitland would not know him, and 
he tried to console himself by thinking that 
it was better he rode Heroine than some less 
conscientious jockey whom Behren might order 
to play tricks with the horse and the public. 
Mr. Behren came up with a friend, a red- 
faced man with a white derby hat. He pointed 
at Charley with his cane. “ My new jockey,” 
he said. “ How’s the mare ? ” he asked. 

“ Very fit, sir,” Charley answered. 

“ Had her feed yet ? ” 

“ No,” Charley said. 

The feed was in a trough which the stable 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 191 


boy had lifted outside into the sun. They 
were mixing it under Charley’s supervision, 
for as a rider he did not stoop to such menial 
work as carrying the water and feed ; but he 
always overlooked the others when they did 
it. Behren scooped up a handful and exam- 
ined it carefully. 

“ It’s not as fresh as it ought to be for the 
price they ask,” he said to the friend with 
him. Then he threw the handful of feed 
back into the trough and ran his hand through 
it again, rubbing it between his thumb and 
fingers and tasting it critically. Then they 
passed on up the row. 

Charley sat down again on an overturned 
bucket and looked at the feed trough, then 
he said to the stable boys, “ You fellows can 
go now and get something to eat if you want 
to.” They did not wait to be urged. Char- 
ley carried the trough inside the stable and 
took up a handful of the feed and looked and 
sniffed at it. It was fresh from his own barn ; 
he had brought it over himself in a cart that 
morning. Then he tasted it with the end of 
his tongue and his face changed. He glanced 
around him quickly to see if any one had 
noticed, and then, with the feed still clenched 


192 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


in his hand, ran out and looked anxiously up 
and down the length of the stable. Mr. Mait- 
land and Curtis were returning from the other 
end of the road. 

“Can I speak to you a moment, sir?” said 
Charley anxiously; “will you come in here 
just a minute? It’s most important, sir. I 
have something to show you.” 

The two men looked at the boy curiously, 
and halted in front of the door. Charley 
added nothing further to what he had said, 
but spread a newspaper over the floor of the 
stable and turned the feed trough over on it. 
Then he stood up over the pile and said, 
“Would you both please taste that?” 

There was something in his manner which 
made questions unnecessary. The two gen- 
tlemen did as he asked. Then Mr. Curtis 
looked into Mr. Maitland’s face, which was 
full of doubt and perplexity, with one of 
angry suspicion. 

“ Cooked,” he said. 

“It does taste strangely,” commented the 
horse owner gravely. 

“ Look at it ; you can see if you look close 
enough,” urged Curtis excitedly. “Do you 
see that green powder on my finger? Do you 


THE STOBT OF A JOCKEY, 193 


know what that is ? An ounce of that would 
turn a horse’s stomach as dry as a lime-kiln. 
Where did you get this feed ? ” he demanded 
of Charley. 

“ Out of our barn,” said the boy. “ And 
no one has touched it except myself, the 
stable boys, and the owner.” 

“Who are the stable boys?” demanded 
Mr. Curtis. 

“ Who’s the owner ? ” asked Charley. 

“Do you know what you are saying?” 
warned Mr. Maitland sharply. “You had 
better be careful.” 

“ Careful ! ” said Charley indignantly. “ I 
will be careful enough.” 

He went over to Heroine, and threw his 
arm up over her neck. He was terribly 
excited and trembling all over. The mare 
turned her head towards him and rubbed her 
nose against his face. 

“ That’s all right,” said Charley. “ Don’t 
you be afraid. I’ll take care of yow.” 

The two men were whispering together. 

“ I don’t know anything about you,” said 
Mr. Maitland to Charley. “I don’t know 
what your idea was in dragging me into this. 
I’m sure I wish I was out of it. But this I 


194 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


do know, if Heroine isn’t herself to-day, and 
doesn’t run as she has run before, and I say 
it though my own horses are in against her. 
I’ll have you and your owner before the 
Racing Board, and you’ll lose your license 
and be ruled off every track in the country.” 

“ One of us will,” said Charley stubbornly. 
“ All I want you to do, Mr. Maitland, is to 
put some of that stuff in your pocket. If 
anything is wrong they will believe what 
you say, when they wouldn’t listen to me. 
That’s why I called you in. I haven’t 
charged any one with anything. I only 
asked you and Mr. Curtis to taste the feed 
that this horse was to have eaten. That’s 
all. And I’m not afraid of the Racing Board, 
either, if the men on it are honest.” 

Mr. Curtis took some letters out of his 
pocket and filled the envelopes with the feed, 
and then put them back in his pocket, and 
Charley gathered up the feed in a bucket 
and emptied it out of the window at the 
back of the stable. 

“I think Behren should be told of this,” 
said Mr. Maitland. 

Charley laughed ; he was still excited and 
angry. “ You had better find out which way 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 195 


Mr. Behren is betting, first,” he said, — “if 
you can.” 

“ Don’t mind the boy. Come away,” said 
Mr. Curtis. “We must look into this.” 

The Fourth of July holiday makers had 
begun to arrive; and there were thousands 
of them, and they had a great deal of money, 
and they wanted to bet it all on Heroine. 
Everybody wanted to bet on Heroine ; and 
the men in the betting ring obliged them. 
But there were three men from Boston who 
were betting on the field against the favorite. 
They distributed their bets in small sums of 
money among a great many different book- 
makers ; even the oldest of the racing men 
did not know them. But Mr. Behren seemed 
to know them. He met one of them openly, 
in front of the grand stand, and the stranger 
from Boston asked politely if he could trouble 
him for a light. Mr. Behren handed him his 
cigar, and while the man puffed at it he 
said : — 

“We’ve got $50,000 of it up. It’s too 
much to risk on that powder. Something 
might go wrong ; you mightn’t have mixed 
it properly, or there mayn’t be enough. I’ve 
known it miss before this. Minerva she won 


196 THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


once with an ounce of it inside her. You’d 
better fix that jockey.” 

Mr. Behren’s face was troubled, and he 
puffed quickly at his cigar as the man walked 
away. Then he turned and moved slowly 
towards the stables. A gentleman with a 
field-glass across his shoulder stopped him 
and asked, “How’s Heroine?” and Mr. 
Behren answered, “ Never better ; I’ve 
$10,000 on her,” and passed on with a confi- 
dent smile. Charley saw Mr. Behren coming, 
and bit his lip and tried to make his face 
look less conscious. He was not used to 
deception. He felt much more like plunging 
a pitchfork into Mr. Behren’s legs ; but he 
restrained that impulse, and chewed gravely 
on a straw. Mr. Behren looked carefully 
around the stable, and wiped the perspiration 
from his fat red face. The day was warm, 
and he was excited. 

“Well, my boy,” he said in a friendly, 
familiar tone as he seated himself, “it’s 
almost time. I hope you are not rattled.’^ 
Charley said “ No,” he felt confident enough. 

“ It would be a big surprise if she went 
back on us, wouldn’t it?” suggested the 
owner gloomily. 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


191 


“ It would, indeed,” said Charley. 

“Still,” said Mr. Behren, “such things 
have been. Racin’ is full of surprises, and 
horses are full of tricks. I’ve known a horse, 
now, get pocketed behind two or three others 
and never show to the front at all. Though 
she was the best of the field, too. And I’ve 
known horses go wild and jump over the 
rail and run away with the jock, and, some- 
times, they fall. And sometimes I’ve had a 
jockey pull a horse on me and make me drop 
every cent I had up. You wouldn’t do that, 
would you?” he asked. He looked up at 
Charley with a smile that might mean any- 
thing. Charley looked at the floor and 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I ride to orders, I do,” he said. “I guess 
the owner knows his own business best. 
When I ride for a man and take his money I 
believe he should have his say. Some jockeys 
ride to win. I ride according to orders.” He 
did not look up after this, and he felt thank- 
ful that Heroine could not understand the 
language of human beings. Mr. Behren’s 
face rippled with smiles. This was a jockey 
after his own heart. “If Heroine should 
lose,” he said, — “I say, if she should, for no 


198 THE STOBY OF A JOCKEY. 


one knows what might happen, — I’d have to 
abuse you fearful right before all the people. 
I’d swear at you and say you lost me all my 
money, and that you should never ride for me 
again. And they might suspend you for a 
month or two, which would be very hard on 
you,” he added reflectively. “ But then,” he 
said more cheerfully, “if you had a little 
money to live on while you were suspended 
it wouldn’t be so hard, would it ? ” He took 
a, large roll of bank bills from his pocket and 
counted them, smoothing them out on his fat 
knee and smiling up at the boy. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he 
repeated. Then he counted aloud, “Eight 
hundred, nine hundred, one thousand.” Ho 
rose and placed the bills under a loose plank 
of the floor, and stamped it down on them. 
“ I guess we understand each other, eh ? ” he 
said. 

“ I guess we do,” said Charley. 

“I’ll have to swear at you, you know,” 
said Behren, smiling. 

“ I can stand that,” Charley answered. 
***** 

As the horses paraded past for the July 
Stakes, the people rushed forward down the 



He took a large roll of hanU hills from his pocket and counted therOi 





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THE STORY OF A JOCKEY, 199 

inclined enclosure and crushed against the 
rail and cheered whichever horse they best 
fancied. 

“Say, you,” called one of the crowd to 
Charley, “you want to win, you do. I’ve 
got f5 on that horse you’re a-riding.” Char- 
ley ran his eyes over the crowd that were 
applauding and cheering him and Heroine, 
and calculated coolly that if every one had 
only $5 on Heroine there would be at least 
$100,000 on the horse in all. 

The man from Boston stepped up beside 
Mr. Behren as he sat on his dog-cart alone. 

“ The mare looks very fit,” he said anx- 
iously. “ Her eyes are like diamonds. I don’t 
believe that stuff affected her at all.” 

“ It’s all right,” whispered Behren calmly. 
“I’ve fixed the boy.” The man dropped back 
off the wheel of the cart with a sigh of relief, 
and disappeared in the crowd. Mr. Maitland 
and Mr. Curtis sat together on the top of the 
former’s coach. Mr. Curtis had his hand over 
the packages of feed in his pockets. “ If the 
mare don’t win,” he said, “ there will be the 
worst scandal this track has ever known.” 
The perspiration was rolling down his face. 
“ It will be the death of honest racing.” 


200 THE STORY OF A JOCKEY, 

“I cannot understand it,” said Mr. Mait^ 
land. “ The boy seemed honest, too.” 

The horses got off together. There wero 
eleven of them. Heroine was amongst the 
last, but no one minded that because the race 
was a long one. And within three-quarters 
of a mile of home Heroine began to shake off 
the others and came up slowly through the 
crowd, and her thousands of admirers yelled. 
And then Maitland’s Good Morning and 
Reilly swerved in front of her, or else Heroine 
fell behind them, it was hard to tell which, 
and Lady Betty closed in on her from the 
right. Her jockey seemed to be trying his 
best to get her out of the triangular pocket 
into which she had run. The great crowd 
simultaneously gave an anxious questioning 
gasp. Then two more horses pushed to the 
front, closing the favorite in and shutting her 
off altogether, 

“ The horse is pocketed,” cried Mr. Curtis, 
“ and not one man out of a thousand would 
know that it was done on purpose.” 

“Wait!” said Mr. Maitland. 

“ Bless that boy ! ” murmured Behren, trying 
his best tq look anxious. “She can never 
pull out of that.” They were within half a 


THE STOBY OF A JOCKEY. 


201 


mile of home. The crowd was panic-stricken 
and jumping up and down. “ Heroine ! ” they 
cried, as wildly as though they were calling 
for help, or the police — “ Heroine ! ” 

Charley heard them above the noise of the 
pounding hoofs, and smiled in spite of the 
mud and dirt that the great horses in front 
flung in his face and eyes. 

“ Heroine,” he said, “ I think we’ve scared 
that crowd about long enough. Now, punish 
Behren.” He sank his spurs into the horse’s 
sides and jerked her head towards a little 
opening between Lady Betty and Chubb. 
Heroine sprang at it like a tiger and came 
neck to neck with the leader. And then, as 
she saw the wide track empty before her, and 
no longer felt the hard backward pull on 
her mouth, she tossed her head with a snort, 
and flew down the stretch like an express, 
with her jockey whispering fiercely in her ear. 

Heroine won with a grand rush, by three 
lengths, but Charley’s face was filled with 
anxiety as he tossed up his arm in front of 
the judges’ stand. He was covered with mud 
and perspiration, and panting with exertion 
and excitement. He distinguished Mr. Curtis’ 
face in the middle of the wild crowd around 


202 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


him, that patted his legs and hugged and 
kissed Heroine’s head, and danced up and 
down in the ecstasy of delight. 

“Mr. Curtis,” he cried, raising his voice 
above the tumult of the crowd, and forget- 
ting, or not caring, that they could hear, 
“ send some one to the stable, quick. There’s 
a thousand dollars there Behren offered me 
to pull the horse. It’s under a plank near 
the back door. Get it before he does. That’s 
evidence the Racing Board can’t — ” 

But before he could finish, or before Mr. 
Curtis could push his way towards him, a 
dozen stable boys and betting men had sprung 
away with a yell towards the stable, and the 
mob dashed after them. It gathered in vol- 
ume as a landslide does when it goes down 
hill ; and the people in the grand stand and 
on the coaches stood up and asked what was 
the matter ; and some cried “ Stop thief ! ’ 
and others cried “ Fight ! ” and others said 
that a bookmaker had given big odds against 
Heroine, and was “doing a welsh.” The 
mob swept around the corner of the long 
line of stables like a charge of cavalry, and 
dashed at Heroine’s lodgings. The door was 
open, and on his knees at the other end was 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY. 


203 


Behren, digging at the planks with his finger- 
nails. He had seen that the boy had inten- 
tionally deceived him ; and his first thought, 
even before that of his great losses, was to 
get possession of the thousand dollars that 
might be used against him. He turned his 
fat face, now white with terror, over his 
shoulder, as the crowd rushed into the stable, 
and tried to rise from his knees; but before 
he could get up, the first man struck him 
between the eyes, and others fell on him, 
pummelling him and kicking him and beating 
him down. If they had lost their money, 
instead of having won, they could not have 
handled him more brutally. Two policemen 
and a couple of men with pitchforks drove 
them back ; and one of the officers lifted up 
the plank, and counted the thousand dollars 
before the crowd. 

Either Mr. Maitland felt badly at having 
doubted Charley, or else he admired his 
riding ; for he bought Heroine when Behren 
was ruled off the race tracks and had to sell 
his horses, and Charley became his head 
jockey. And just as soon as Heroine began 
to lose, Mr. Maitland refused to have her 
suffer such a degradation, and said she should 


204 


THE STORY OF A JOCKEY, 


stop while she could still win. And then he 
presented her to Charley, who had won so 
much and so often with her; and Charley 
gave up his license and went back to the 
farm to take care of his mother, and Heroine 
played all day in the clover fields. 


BY GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL 

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